Magic Breaker [Enby MC Anti-Mage LitRPG]

Somehow, Thatch charms our way through the gates. He really is unfairly handsome. So much so, apparently, that it even works on other species. 

Having Norman with us helps.

It’s really funny how his skill works. [Unassuming] is largely passive, but he can absolutely feed it with mana, though there are diminishing returns. The skill cloaks its own usage, spreads out over the whole party, and makes us seem… ordinary.

Unlike something flashy like invisibility, which might make you obvious once spotted, his skill is gentle. I’d call it insidious. But I mimic it just a little, [Suppressing] our “presence” as best as I can. It helps with the pain of a too-full vessel in my chest. I should look into that, too, someday. Maybe. Probably.

But with the two of us working together, and the fact that Thatch is unreasonably charming, we make our way past the gates and into the city proper. We don’t have directions, but all it takes to get them is asking a local a quick question. 

In the end, making our way to the mansion doesn’t take very long. The city’s noisy, but I bear with it. Hopefully my headphones will be fixed soon. Since it’s an undercover mission I can’t even steal any from the humans walking around - not that many of them are carrying headphones. A tragedy.

Maybe I should get some kind of dimensional storage, just to tuck them away, so they don’t get damaged in a fight… Another project to tuck onto the list. I focus on the moment, creating more tethers with [Selection] and increasing my focus on [Suppression] a bit, just to deal with my mana, pouring into my vessel as it regenerates.

When we’re in front of the manor, I’m in danger of zoning out again, thinking of where it comes from, when it’s finally time to put on a performance.

“I’m Lapis,” Opal says at the door. The guard raises an eyebrow.

“I see your name on the list,” the sumeen says, long limbs trailing along a clipboard. “But I don’t see you being registered as bringing a whole climbing party,” she notes with displeasure.

Opal gives a charming smile. “Really now? The baron did say me and my party.”

“Are you the leader then?” she asks.

They shrug, giving a so-so gesture. “I’d say it’s more my buddy’s party,” they say, gesturing at me.

“I assure you, I am the mascot,” I deadpan. 

The guard gives us a look, then a sigh. “Buncha clowns. Alright, head on inside. Seems like the kinda shenanigans the baron would like, anyway. Won’t have my hide for it, either. Don’t cause trouble.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Thatch lies elegantly, and we stride in through the opulent curtains.

It’s a ballroom. There must be some kind of silencing enchantment on the walls, because as soon as we’re inside, the noise hits me like a physical smack. There are dozens of people mingling. Sumeen, tall and faceless, towering over the other attendees. Scithian, their crystal wings folded, often wearing dresses decorated with gems of matching colours. Zoof, the furballs, decked out in elegant top hats and monocles, looking just a little ridiculous, but greatly adorable.

They mingle, they dance, there is a band with string instruments I can’t recognize and a singer whose mana has his voice echo across the entire room. I lock eyes with him, giving him a look that pleads for a little more quiet. He shoots me a salacious look in reply and the tones speed up and get a little louder.

Wulven are more rare, but some are present. Their warrior culture likely lends itself well to earning fame on this floor, and one almost dances into me, when Inu quickly steps between us, bouncing the wolf back into the dancefloor. It’s bright, light spilling from a dozen gaudy chandeliers.

“I hate parties,” I mumble. Then I look over, and Opal is already dancing with a handsome guy, and Thatch has a prince and princess fight over him. Sylves floats, dancing in the air with a dozen gazes on her, and Norman stands in the door, shellshocked, but somehow, no one walks into him, unassuming as he is. Which leaves me and Inu.

“They’re rather noisy,” she says, sharing my grimace. “Emotions are… high.”

Ah, that must be unpleasant. I gently reach out with my magic and [Suppress] her skill, just a bit, seeing her take a breath of relief. She could regulate it herself, but that’s harder than for me to just use the tether of [Selection] that’s already there. 

I let the others do their thing. It’s a party, after all, they’re meant to have fun. Instead, I look at the walls, [Selecting] them, or trying to. My skill actually slips off, the enchantments rejecting the mana so that I can’t figure them out as easily.

With this cruel fate, I resign myself to my life at the snack buffet. Tragic. Enduring noise and light and the occasional person bumping into me. It’s horrible. The worst part is the smell of alcohol.

Somehow, the culture of mildly poisoning oneself is apparently universal. Monkeys and elephants do it by chewing rotten fruit, and I am entirely convinced that dolphins would get drunk if they could. The people here do, too. And it’s despicable.

I try to take a deep breath, but the smell is overpowering. Should have brought sunglasses, damn it. I lean more on [Suppression], making the noise quieter, and my eyes worse, and dulling my sensation of touch and smell. In a moment, the word grows duller, darker. It lets me breathe a little more easily, goosebumps crawling across my skin as I pick out a slice of fruit-smelling cake to eat.

“Dang,” someone says, sauntering up next to me. It’s a scithian, their face handsome. They lean against the bar, giving me a confident, easy smile in the way that only flirty extroverts usually can. He has tan skin, yellow eyes, and white hair. “Didn’t think I’d meet someone I’d call gorgeous here. Your hair’s awesome.”

“It’s dyed,” I reply calmly. By now, my roots should be poking out just a bit again, contrasting against the silver of the dye. 

“Even cooler. Can I touch it?” they reach out.

“No,” I say.

Their hand freezes midair, and they start looking at me. I stare them down. They smile. “I like the fire in your eyes. They suit your hair.”

I just stare. My eyes are dark, almost black. “Anything else you wanna compliment?” I deadpan.

“Yeah,” they say, smile widening some more. “I like your freckles, too.” 

“Do you always stare at new people?” I ask. My own voice sounds dull in my ears, the sound [Suppressed]. I like it. It’s like I’m underwater. Everything is a little more bearable.

“Only the cute ones,” they wink. “Or pretty. Or beautiful. Or handsome. Or gorgeous. Pick whichever word you like best.” Another smile.

I nod. “Right,” I say. Then, I scan the room, seeing if Inu can help me out, but she’s busy. Sylves is already entangled with the church of Respitia. There are a few of them in attendance, mostly recognizable by their fancy clothes. She’s handing them drinks and snacks. They’re practically eating out of her hand.

Opal is engaged with the baron. Thatch is basically entangled in a social war. Inu is in the process of bugging another paladin from the church. We’re playing our cards, slowly but surely. I’ll have to do my part when they’re a bit more distracted.

None of them have time for me. Out of all people, it’s Norman who comes to my aid.

He saunters up next to me, and I feel [Unassuming] slowly take hold. The flirtatious scithian seems almost confused as the skill goes into effect, blinking at me. “Heya. You good, kid?” he addresses them. “Looks like you had a little much to drink.”

The scithian hums, wings flickering behind their back. “Yeah,” they hum. “Things are a bit… blurry.”

Norman smiles politely. “C’mon, let’s find you a place to sit down.”

“Ah, I was talking to…” they pause.

Inu’s dad laughs in an amicable, customer service way. “If you didn’t even catch a name, surely it’s not that important.” Then, in a quick swoop, he grabs them, and softly leads them to a bit of the seating area. 

I use my chance to slink even further into a dark corner. People mill about, moving, dancing, laughing, drinking, celebrating. I try to find something, anything to occupy me, and it all comes back to mana. Gingerly, I take out the maze, sitting down on the floor in a corner. I [Select] it, letting the world blur just a little, mostly bleeding away, except for the sensations I get from my other tethers.

And then, I practice. Bit by bit, step by step, I guide and twist my mana through the cube focusing on my heartbeat, the rhythmic pulsing of my vessel as my mana refills and filters into the training aid. I hold the shapes in my mind, little exercises of focus, and guide it along.

Slowly, minutes pass, and things become more bearable. I adjust. My skills aren’t a replacement for my headphones or my sunglasses. They’ll never be. But they help. 

Someone sits across from me.

He doesn’t talk or reach out. Just a blurry figure, one that doesn’t move. Just sits.

I spend a dozen more minutes with the maze, then lock my mana in place and look up. It’s a zoof, fluffy fur on full display, legs crossed beneath him. His eyes are big, focused on the maze. I tilt my head. 

“You should twist the mana,” he says. “That way it bends around corners better.”

Hm. I try to follow the advice, and promptly splinter the mana-thread I had going on, cracking apart it into bits of crystal. Still, a small smile spreads on my face. “That makes sense,” I say. It fits with the patterns that I’ve seen in skills. “How do I get it not to fragment?”

He smiles, bright, wide, and silly. “No idea!” he says. “How do you get it so thin?”

“Compression,” I reply. “If I just pour it in as is, it’s too thin. So I solidify it into crystal-things.”

“Oh, can that be used to store it?” he asks.

“To some degree,” I nod, making a small, floating orb of mana, and gently floating it over to him.

An arm appears from the fluff, and he taps a sharp nail against the orb, making it ring a little. “How bizarre,” he hums. “This is how I do it.”

Mana pours from his vessel, twisting in on itself as a wave of power turns into a drop of liquid. I tap its surface, and it ripples, tingling against my finger. It’s so clear to my mana sense, but a lot less solid than what I can make. In return, it’s a lot easier to shape.

“Huh. Curious,” I say. 

“I’m Leo.”

“I can’t tell you my name yet,” I reply.

“Why’s that?” he tilts his head.

A small smile spreads on my face. “Cuz it’s trouble.”

He grins, conspiratorially. “I don’t mind trouble.”

Slowly, I bring a finger to my lip, indicating silence. “You’ll figure it out when things go down, I’m sure.”

“Things will go down?” he whispers excitedly. 

“Oh, for suresies,” I say. “No two ways about it.”

“Nice,” he nods. “Okay, mysterious stranger, let’s puzzle out this maze a bit more. I have a few more ideas…”

I listen as he talks. Somehow, he manages all the things people often struggle with. He’s not too close, not too loud, and not too boring. We talk about mana, and the time passes a little bit quicker. My mana skills improve, and Leo seems to have fun, too. No one else approaches the dark corner. I’d almost call it nice. Almost.

And then, it’s go-time.

- - -

My cue comes in the form of Sylves. She hovers above the crowds, easily coming over to find me. She sees Leo, and gives me a curious look. I shrug, slightly, and she mimes laughing, then quickly waves her hand in front of her neck, gesturing for me to cut off the conversation.

I sigh, faintly, getting to my feet. “Alright, Leo. I’ll have to cut this here. This was enlightening, but I unfortunately have duties to attend to,” I say.

The zoof seems entirely unbothered, smiling. “Got it! Won’t tell anyone about your secrets, either. See you!” he says, then scampers off.

Sylves touches down on the floor in front of me, brushing her dress to get it to look prim and proper again. She smiles. “I got most of them to eat fae food. Thatch has caught enough glimpses to figure out a few weaknesses, and Inu has planted seeds of dizziness and anger that’ll make them follow us. Norman kept it all hidden, and Opal was a good distraction. We’re set.”

“Run me through the targets,” I say.

She nods, serious. “Philia has guards. A handful of priests in robes. Low heart, high vessel, with channelling skills. A few warriors, enchanted swords and strength. They don’t have much in the way of rogue-types, or at least we spotted none.”

I nod.

“Opal and Thatch are taking the priests. Inu and I the warriors. Philia is all yours. Norman helps us disappear if there’s trouble. That’s the rough workings of it,” she says. “We’ve got our debuffs lined up, Snow. Things are set. I can’t wait,” she says, grinning sadistically. “Let’s show them.”

Slowly, I smile. “Yeah,” I say. “Let’s show them.”

Having my social battery reasonably recharged, my vessel so full it’s aching in my chest, and feeling ready as I’ll ever be, I step out into the crowd. Sensations blare all over me, but now that there’s a target, they’re tolerable. No aimless drifting, no pointless mingling.

No, my path is straightforward and direct. Opal has talked to the baron, I hope, because otherwise he might not be a fan of what’s about to happen. My friends will have taken care of the prep. They’re reliable like that. 

There’s just one thing I need to do.

Provoke a reaction.

“Hey, Philia!” I call out to the woman, yelling loudly enough it startles the other guests and cuts through the music. The woman turns to face me, confused. Her dark hair is long, going past her hips, even. She’s wearing a bit of resplendent armor, but it’s clearly not meant for fighting. It’s too ornate for that.

“I was just curious, if I have a healing skill, where do I-”

Instantly, she’s in front of me. A flash of light, and she’s right there. I feel afraid. My heart pumps blood through my veins. I can feel the adrenaline. The fight or flight response, the way mana flickers and I have to hold it back. It presses against my chest, straining to escape from my vessel and kill this woman.

But I breathe, recalling that yawning emptiness inside me. And it all fades away, drop by drop, in an instant. My face remains neutral, placid.

“A healing skill?” she asks. “A human with a healing skill?” Her eyes narrow. “Prove it.”

I smile, then create a thin needle of mana, stabbing it into my skin. Then, in front of her, I form the skill, threading the mana. In moments, my skin knits closed. Her eyes widen. “It’s true. You’ll have to come with me, immediately.” She emphasizes the urgency.

“Ahhhh, sorry,” I say, sharply drawing in breath between my teeth, leaning into the theatrics. “See, I think you’re a piece of fucking shit who tried to kill me before.” I pull back the half-cowl and my hair, revealing the patch of my skull. I see surprise, and then iron will spread across her face.

“Murderer,” she hisses.

“Yeah!” I yell, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “My name is Ion! I have a healing skill! I take absolutely no shit from your pissy church and your overbearing ruler! You can all fuck off. If you wanna stop me from healing people, then kill me.” I taunt.

It’s a bit overbearing, but that’s fine. I’m angry at them, genuinely angry, but the words hit home. I know they do, because…

[Respitia the Pure is disgusted by your outburst.]

[The Master of Suffering guffaws at her stunned sputtering.]

[The Embrace lingers curiously.]

Blinding light gathers in her hands, but I’m not dying here. Instantly, as she begins to cast, I use the new essence I’ve gained. [Deconstruction] destabilizes the spell, [Suppression] makes it take longer to activate, a tiny application of [Solidification] cuts through the burgeoning magic, until, all at once…

It breaks.

“My name is Ion! Remember it!” And with that, I throw a clumsy punch, that cracks right into her surprised nose, making my knuckles ache. 

Rage sets in for the paladin. “Fine then, rookie,” she snarls. “You insult my goddess. You insult me. Then die.”

I laugh, and then start running as fast as I can.