Trinity of Magic

Zeke was pushed forward and forced through the door. He passed the two guards outside, as well as two more on the inside. Zeke recognized all four as part of the personal retinue of the Archmage, tasked with protecting him at all times. However, his gaze didn’t linger as he was driven further into the room.

Upon entering, the first thing he noticed was the ginormous bed that took up a significant portion of the chamber. As with everything else here, it was overly luxurious. Even so, his gaze passed over the fineries and found the eyes of the sickly figure lying within. The Archmage was staring back at him from his prone position in the middle of a sea of pillows. His gaze was full of venom and malicious glee.

Zeke was moved before the bed and made to kneel by the woman who had caught him. Afterward, she took a spot on the opposite side of the bed. The male Chimeroi, who was most likely her brother, tossed her one of the Marrow-Shackles, which she promptly aimed at Zeke, daring him to move.

The archmage nodded appreciatively before addressing Zeke for the first time. “Who are you, boy?” the man rasped. His voice was hoarse and sickly compared to the last time Zeke had seen him, and his eyes seemed to have trouble focusing. Even so, he was far from defenseless, judging by the waves of Magic power radiating off him.

Zeke stared right back at the man without a shred of fear. “Blood Dragon is what they call me,” he replied.

“Blood Dragon…” the Archmage repeated, a hint of recognition entering his voice. “I have heard of you. Aren’t you one of the brats fighting for the Lion’s Den?”

Zeke nodded.

“Is that why you are here? To assassinate me before I can assist my brother?” the man asked. It seemed he wasn’t even trying to hide his plans anymore. This could only mean that he had already decided Zeke’s fate.

Even so, Zeke didn’t deny the claim. “That’s right. I was the one who poisoned you as well.”

“Poisoned?” the man asked with a chuckle. “Did you think I would believe that? No, this is no poison,” he stated confidently, his gaze boring into Zeke with a renewed intensity. “This is Soul damage.”

Zeke’s eyes widened before he could stop himself. He couldn’t help it. After all, this was the first time he had heard anybody else speak of the Soul. Not only that, the man had even recognized it merely by the type of his suffering. What was going on?

“Didn’t expect me to notice, did you, you little shit?” the Archmage said with a knowing smirk. “Well, too bad for you that it’s not the first time I’ve experienced something like this. But don’t worry, I’ve already summoned an expert, and in a couple of days, I’ll be as good as new.”

Zeke kept his mouth shut, returning his expression to a serene mask. Inwardly, however, his mind was in turmoil. Who was this expert? Where else had he experienced Soul damage? Zeke desperately wanted to know, but he was well aware that the man would not answer even if he asked.

“The only thing I want to know,” the Archmage continued, “is how you managed to damage my Soul.” Zeke remained quiet, staring defiantly at the man.

The Archmage scoffed. “Tell me now, and I will grant you a painless death. Defy me, and you will be in so much pain that you will beg for death before long.”

Zeke thought about the offer and eventually decided that it wouldn’t hurt to indulge the man a bit. “I will speak,” he said, “under the condition that you tell me where you encountered Soul damage.”

The Archmage sneered but, after a moment of thought, decided that it didn’t matter if he told the story. After all, the boy wouldn’t live past today. “It was over a century ago, right after I advanced to the Archmage level,” the man said, a bitter smile on his face. “I was cocky after my successful breakthrough and tried to get rid of an old rival. However, just before that damnable whoreson bit the dust, he released one last Spell, damaging my Soul in the process.”

“What kind of Mage was it?” Zeke asked eagerly.

“A Death Mage, of course,” the man replied with a hint of suspicion. “Isn’t that where you learned the craft as well?”

Zeke didn’t quite follow but didn’t deny the accusation either. “Maybe,” he said neutrally.

“It doesn’t matter,” the Archmage said impatiently. “Now, tell me how you injured me. I can feel that you are not a Death Mage, and even if you were, you are far too weak to do anything to me.”

“I abused a loophole in the transfer Ritual to gain access to your Soul and chipped away at it,” Zeke explained truthfully. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough, so I came to finish you off in person.”

The Archmage looked at him with an incredulous expression. Either he hadn’t expected Zeke to keep his word, or he was baffled by the nonchalant way the boy had talked about killing him. After a moment of silence, he burst out laughing.

“Finish me off…” he wheezed. “How is that going, you little shit?”

Observing the man struggling to catch his breath, Zeke maintained his silence. Because of the cacophony of noise, the man failed to notice the subtle smile adorning Zeke’s lips, nor did he register the quietly spoken response. “It is going just as planned.”

At that very moment, he shared a glance with the horned siblings, who were still aiming their guns at his head. Both responded with nods of their own before whipping their guns up and firing at the two guards at the entrance.

The Marrow-Shackles hissed furiously, signifying the release of pressure. A shrill noise pierced the air as countless tiny projectiles struck the two unsuspecting guards, causing them to crumple to the ground. Their fate was the same as the Chimeroi of the Lion’s Den, who had been crippled by the very same weapon not too long ago.

This tumult finally managed to snap the Archmage out of his state of laughter, but before he could even react, the two Chimeroi whipped their weapons around and aimed their barrels at him.

“I command you to stop,” he bellowed.

To his utter surprise, the Slaves didn’t stop or even react to his order. Instead, they pulled the trigger again and again, firing one round after the other at his prone form.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

The Archmage, though surprised, wasn’t as helpless as he seemed. Before the first shot could even reach him, a shield sprung up, covering him in a coating of flames. The Voidiron pellets failed to penetrate at first, and even among the later rounds, only a scant few managed to reach his body.

He shrieked in pain when the few projectiles he couldn’t stop buried themselves into his flesh. It was quite obvious that he had become unacquainted with the pain of battle during his cushy reign.

After shooting five times, the triggers continued to click, but no further rounds were discharged. Without hesitation, both Chimeroi discarded the weapons and faced the irate Archmage head-on. They were well aware that they stood no chance against him in a fair fight, wounded or not. Knowing this, they used the only thing they could do that had any chance of working against such an opponent — their innate abilities.

Zeke knew about their abilities from the memories he had consumed, but this was the first time he saw it for himself. Their eyes turned dark, completely hiding their sclera. An oppressive force could be felt, and only the fact that the room was magically isolated prevented the guards outside from noticing that something was off.

The Archmage froze as if gripped by invisible shackles.

This was it. The petrifying glare the siblings were famous for. It was the one thing the Archmage always thought about when looking at either of the two. Even though they had been his Slaves, he had never liked to have them around because he had long begun to wonder if their abilities would also be effective against him.

However, the paralysis only lasted for a moment.

A man-sized fist of fire slapped one of the siblings across the room. With a loud thud, the man impacted the far wall. The cacophony of breaking bones reverberated through the relatively quiet space, stark in its intensity. Undeterred by the brutal assault, the woman persisted in wielding her ability. Nevertheless, it became increasingly evident that victory was slipping from her grasp. In a mere matter of seconds, the Archmage would inevitably break free from his restraints and deliver the decisive blow.

Or at least that would have happened.

Just then, a brown-haired figure appeared above the Archmage. In this frozen moment, Zeke seemed to float in mid-air, parallel to the ground and at eye level with his opponent. Their gazes met, and Zeke noticed the signs of realization dawning on the man. He was weakened from Soul damage, injured by Voidiron, and held in place by Magic. And now, now he was going to die.

The moment passed, and Zeke stabbed both of his Blood spikes into the man’s eyes. He felt his spikes encounter some resistance before penetrating through the eye sockets and into the man’s brain.

Zeke didn’t take any time to celebrate the Archmage’s demise. Instead, he let himself fall onto his enemy’s limp body carelessly, already switched over to his Soul Sight. The Archmage’s dying Soul had begun disintegrating now that the body it had been tethered to was gone. With the Soul’s integrity compromised, he didn’t even need to bother with an access point. He ignored the wavering contour of the Archmage’s Soul and beelined for the only area that mattered anymore.

Now that Zeke didn’t have to care about being discovered, he arrived at his destination in an instant. He looked down at the fields of Souls on the Archmage’s spine, containing the countless Soul fragments. Even though the siblings and Soria were already free, Zeke would be damned if he didn’t use every last moment to save as many as he could.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he ripped out the first fragment, taking a chunk of the Archmage Soul with it. He only had seconds and couldn’t care about the process any more than necessary. He stuffed it inside his own Soul, uncaring about the location it landed before grabbing the next one.

He retrieved a third and then a fourth, but instead of relief, desperation gripped him. The once-solid outlines of the Archmage’s Soul were already getting blurry. How many more could he rescue?

He secured a fifth and then a sixth. Already, the edges of the fields were affected by the decay. Most likely, the first of the Slaves would already be dead by the time he returned to pick up the next.

Zeke split his focus and, in turn, split his tether into a multipronged tool. He hurriedly extended it towards the side of the field that was in the most immediate danger. He managed to grab three fragments at once, but dozens remained. Three more joined the fold, bringing the grand total up to nine.

If only… if only he had a little more time.

Zeke used his [Perfect Body Control] to speed up his brain in an attempt to slow his perception. Yet, nothing happened. He cursed himself for the wasted moment. This had been the worst time to find out that his physical attributes held no bearing on the state of his Soul.

Helplessly, he watched the edges of the fields collapse, casting the first dozen or so fragments into the void. Their light disappeared after no more than a moment, claiming the lives of their unwitting owners in the process.

He… just… needed… time!

His tethers rushed toward the edges of the field, where the fuzziness approached another row. Zeke managed to grab four more fragments, but as he yanked them towards himself, he lost hold of one. He could do nothing as he watched it tumble into the void and blink out.

In a state of panicked frustration, Zeke attempted to cast the spell once more, fully aware of its futility. Driven by instinctual desperation, he tapped into his other affinities as his tethers extended once again. He sought to enhance his speed, sharpen his focus, and, above all, buy himself more time. He kept the fuzzy edge of the dissolving Archmage Soul in his sight as it approached the fragments, willing it to stop moving with growing desperation.

Helplessly, he kept casting his [Perfect Body Control] and any other Spell that seemed even remotely promising and —

Time stopped, and his thoughts became crystal clear. Calm washed over him in a familiar feeling of perfect serenity. After all this time, Zeke had once again managed to enter this state of hyperawareness in his time of greatest need.

He saw the encroaching void slow to a standstill as his tether snatched a set of Soul fragments away from its destruction, and another, and another. His panic had abated, as it could not serve him. Instead, he worked with quiet efficiency, casting again and again to shelter as many of the fragments as possible. In this state, he would be able to extend the next couple of seconds into an eternity.

If he were able to hold it for that long.

Zeke didn’t waste a single moment, and neither did he think about those he was too late to save. He continued his labor like a machine—tireless, precise, and without any emotions to distract him from his task. Rows upon rows of fragments joined his growing collection. A dozen at first, but soon, there were hundreds of tiny sparks adorning his Soul like the starry sky on a cloudless night.

His capillaries ruptured first, and blood began to rush from his nose in a violent stream. Next were his eyes, as the small blood vessels couldn’t stand the pressure. His ears followed, and after a few more moments, his body started to bleed internally from various sources.

Zeke was well aware of the state of his body, but he didn’t let it bother him. His hyperrational state would not let him value his own discomfort over the lives of dozens of innocents. He would continue to work until he collapsed. He owed them this much, at least.

Hundreds upon hundreds of Soul fragments joined his growing collection, accompanied by the ever-increasing wail of his body. The edges of his vision began to turn dark, which was strange, as he didn’t actually have eyes. It was most likely because of the bleeding in his brain.

Another dozen Souls later, and he could barely make out anything anymore. His body was shutting down. He knew it, but he couldn’t stop. There were more people to save.

Before he could cast his tether again, Zeke was ripped from his state of increased consciousness, and time began to rush. Reality seemed to be several times faster than he remembered, and the remainder of the fragments were gone before he could even react. Was the world truly moving faster, or did his tired mind simply struggle to keep up? Zeke didn’t know, and neither was he in a position to care.

The very moment he had been released from that wonderous state, a mixture of pain and fatigue had overwhelmed his dwindling psyche and claimed his last speck of consciousness.

[Notice]

Emergency protocol initiated.