An Age of Mysterious Memories

Al'pa'ca starting to stop time steps into my purview, and since I don't know all that he can do during stopped time, I don't like it one bit. So, guess what? That ain't happenin' palsy walsy. Pft, I snort a laugh at my mental monologue as I drop another hundred thirty five SP on countering a maximum tier spell once more. Since I hadn't shown off that I had the countering side of dispellation mastered yet, Al'pa'ca is surprised once more that his spell turns out useless. That's what, 285 SP down for the day? And of course, infuriated as Lil and Te attempt to take advantage of his surprised state, he starts another spell.

Welp. He is an archmage after all. This spell though? This is one I've definitely been saving my SP to stop. He begins summoning a meteor. Nope. Nope nope nope. Not gonna happen. Ah crap the advance runners of the horde are here, and my attention is split already, and I haven't even started to siphon Quicksand's dragonforce. Anyway, counter the spell Reggie, yet another one thirty five SP down. That's four-twenty SP down for the day already. Snrk. Sighing, I recall the significance of that particular value on Fakeworld.

Oh, wait, my math is wrong anyway. I was only at 275 SP down after that second dispellation, the one that countered the time stop. That puts me at four-ten, not four-twenty. Kinda almost unimportant, but, might be the difference between thinking I’m out of SP, and having a couple more safe casts in me to proc my runic clips.

The oncoming horde swells like a tidal wave of malice, a sea of scales, claws, and snarling maws, illuminated by the intermittent flashes of lightning-powered weapons, breath attacks, and minor spellwork from casters amidst their ranks. Ducking aside several blows, I make eye contact with several foes. Sighing, yes I heard the rhyme even in my head. Meeting their gazes shows that they're glinting with savage intent.

The boogers rush our way in a chaotic orchestra of roars and hisses, an overwhelming surge of bodies that seems to roll and undulate across the tunnel on the far side of the room I'm trying to block off, and the floor of that room. They're rabid, fervent, each creature vying for its place at the forefront of the assault. As more and more of the friggin' foes near, the clamor of their approach crescendos - a cacophony of guttural growls and the clashing of scales. It’s an obnoxiously discordant tune of their thirst for battle, or rather, their thirst for my head and the heads of the rest of the SAP. They likely don't think we're that much of a threat that it'll be an actual battle.

This unruly swarm, no, mob, is vicious in ways I’ve never seen before. Lightning lances are jabbed my way, which, thankfully are no more effective than regular lances in my current form. Less thankfully, regular lances still effing hurt. But at least this form regenerates. Hm, crap, how long can I keep it up? Side-eyeing, I'm glad no one's in my head right now, seeing as Teuila already burst into laughter once today at that particular turn of phrase. What I meant to ask was; how long do my lycanthrope forms last again? Friggin' crap on a cracker, he's trying another meteor already.

Al'pa'ca's incantation conjures a nascent meteor, its fiery mass coalescing above, a swirling vortex of molten rock and flame that rapidly takes a more solidified mass, cooling the molten mass into solid stone yet pushing its released heat before it. Where's he getting all this juice to be able to pump out ninth tier spells over and ov--. Oh, right, duh. He's got his own artificial leylines to tap into. I can't risk just popping them open, and letting all hell break loose though. I'd probably survive for a while. Te might survive with Mjolnir absorbing lightning, but Lil would be toast. Whether figuratively, or literally, that's something I'd like my best bud to never be. Fudging heck. I'm getting surrounded because I'm getting distracted.

My void dragon form lashes out, loosing its disorienting, and semi-nullifying, void-breath as I sweep about with its claws, clearing away the rabble that'd been able to sneak by me. I also manage to have it start consuming Quicksand's heart, so that I can claim her dragonforce, and so that neither Al'pa'ca, nor any of the human-form dragons approaching can do so. Of course, I also blow another hundred-thirty-five SP, preventing Al'pa'ca's newest meteor. A surge of my counterspell unravels it, dissipating the fiery orb into a shower of harmless sparks.

It's a bit odd that my only-semi-tangible form can masticate and swallow. Speaking of swallowing--so very glad Teuila isn't in my head at the moment. Speaking of swallowing, dragons from the hoard are chewing at and pulling apart Quicksand's corpse to make more room to join the assault on our SAP. I’m drawing on her dragonforce as fast as I can, but I’m not sure I’m going to get enough of it to be considered one towards my cure. Also, this isn't tenable. I'm up to five-forty-five SP used for the day already. One more spell and I'm--crap!

Al'pa'ca is using magic and trinkets from his hoard to stave off Lil and Teuila, and he's friggin' calling another meteor. The ancient dickweasel weaves the fabric of his spell, a churning sphere of destructive energy takes shape, crackling with impending doom. Or at least impending ouchies. Pft. Come on Reggie, take this seriously. It's another meteor. That, and several adult blues and sands are in their full dragon forms, loosing their breath weapons into the vault chamber from atop Quicksand's corpse. Something I really don't want happening.

Te and Lil are being balked by temporary invisible walls of telekinetic force, and other tricks that Al'pa'ca is deploying from trinkets he's got on him, or scattered about his hoard. Worse, an aperture is opening up in the vault. Ah, crap on a cracker, this just went from bad to a friggin' nightmare! The aperture in the roof of this room is stretching wider, like the maw of some cosmic beast

Ugh, of course it is. Yup, there it is, it looks like the Worldstorm is coming down atop our heads – a slice of the Worldstorm at least, writhing and howling like it's been personally offended by our existence. Of course, it's under ol' Alpacker's control. It's a chaotic dance of lightning and wind, all directed by our spellweave-tampering foe. The air's thick with static, making every hair on my body stand on end, and not in a good way. That scent of ozone that'd been kinda obvious all over the place? Especially in the last room with the broken lightning conduits? Yeah, it's hellaciously overpowering now.

The storm's roar is like a thousand angry dragons screaming into the void, y'know, like the thousands of angry buttheads on one side me, screaming at me, Reggie the void Shellcracker. And it's all funneling down right here, where we're standing. Great, just great. As if dealing with one ancient, power-hungry, spell-slinging ancient sand dragon archmage protected by magic items, and his horde of thousands of followers crashing in against me, wasn't enough, now we've got a chunk of the friggin' Worldstorm to contend with. 'Cause why the hell not? Let's just pile on the problems, shall we?

This is beyond insane. It's like Al'pa'ca's got the worst weather of the century on speed-dial and thought, 'Hey, why not invite it to the party?' And the worst part? This stormy gatecrasher is tearing through the chamber with a vengeance, zapping and swirling like it's got a personal vendetta against us. Me in particular, of course, because I keep effing with and countering his spells, not that he can see me casting, but he's smart enough to know it's me messing with him. The river of lightning flowing my way and the acid clouds carrying it, reminds me vaguely of the main river on Can’z’aas, especially how I once jokingly thought that that particular body of water basically had it in for me. Because this body of water and lightning certainly does.

I swear, if we get out of this, after I find my cure, I'm gonna need a vacation. Like, a long one, in the least stormy, least dragon-infested place I can find. A sunny beach, maybe? Yeah, sunny for sure at least. Somewhere with sunlight and absolutely, positively, no world-ending catastrophes.

Well, the meteor takes priority for the moment. I know Te can weather one or two of 'em at this point easily enough. But the three of us being rocked by them? Especially since he seems to be able to just call down one after another after another? That's just, ugh. How the hell should I deal with it? I mean, obviously, counter this one, but then I'm out of SP I can safely spend before another cast would end up with my muscles starting to falter and responding erratically at best.

Alright, I need to buy myself a second to friggin' think. All these breath weapons and physical weapons coming my way are too big a distraction, and my insides are still flame from the earlier empowerment of a fire rune without a spelliform. So, let's start off with one of our free uses per day of our cold blast, use ice cold knife, and layer it up with an empowered ice rune on top of that. A glacier, and a few dozen frozen corpses of their allies, should take the hoard a few seconds to dig through at least.

Gathering my focus, I unleash the cone of cold, a spiraling tempest of frost that multiplies as it expands. Time seems to slow as I observe it. Or maybe it does, layering up that much cold while being my void-like self with my Honoris Causa active, and attuned to, and so near the artificial electric leylines. It's like watching a thousand icy fingers stretch out, each one branching into more, a fractal pattern of relentless cold. The air crackles with the shift in temperature, a visible mist forming as the moisture in the air succumbs to the sudden freeze. It's a cascading wave of ice, enveloping everything in its path, turning the vault’s antechamber into a frozen tableau.

The cold takes a bite out of my thermal senses. It appears in them like a piercing, numbing growth absent of heat. It's both exhilarating and daunting. It's like commanding the glacier that sunk the Titanic to slide over, across, and through our foes, loosed upon them in this underground stronghold at Al'pa'ca's seat of power.

There, I can at least counter Al'pa'ca's current spell, before he manages to pull a meteor through the spatial vortex that's forming. Each attempt by Al'pa'ca thus far to summon his meteoric fury ended in frustration; the fiery orb would start to form, growing, threatening, before being undone by my swift intervention, unraveling like a dream at dawn. Not the Onyx Dawn though, they're plenty dreamy, and not unraveled. Yet at least.

Huff. Oh Dawn, we—, I, can’t afford to think about you right now. I countered his most recent meteor as well, and that’s it. That’s all I can really cast for the day. Another one-thirty-five SP down, putting me at six-eighty spent for the day. Sixteen SP left, not much I can do except some little pinging shots that I need to save on the off-chance that Lil and Teuila need to be freed from mental domination effects.

In a safe location behind invisible barriers, Al'pa'ca looms large, a towering behemoth, though hopefully not another Behemoth class dragon. That'd suck having him be that durable. His scales are like weathered stone, his eyes burning like embers in a sandstorm. His presence, despite being a tad on the cowardly side, is still impressive, exuding ancient power and a cunning forged through centuries. His movements are deceptively graceful for his size, each frustrating gesture imbued with the ferocity of a desert wind, his voice a raspy wheedling rumble that resonates through the stone around us. His hide bears the scars of age-old battles, a tapestry of survival.

Despite me hoping that, like members of the Onyx Dawn, he might not be all that familiar, or adept with magic items, since even Kinzul was impressed by my ability to pick up on the uses and applications of enchanted items quickly, Al'pa'ca wields his magical trinkets with the finesse of a seasoned mage. The thing that springs to life at his command, forming invisible barriers, looks like, well, a mcguffin from a certain cinematic universe. It's a glowy cube, and it provides those barriers that repel Lil's and Te's attacks with a resonant hum.

He deftly manipulates yet more arcane objects, each unleashing its own unique power or spell-like ability. There's barriers, blasts of force, and shields of light, all orchestrating a defense as complex as it is formidable creating layers of magical protection that shimmer around him like a mirage. With a mere flick of his claw, Al'pa'ca activates another trinket, its glow intensifying as it augments his spellcasting, and he pops one of those magical might steroid potions. Oh no. Oh heck. Fudge. No no no no.

I’m pretty sure I recognize the auras enveloping Al’pa’ca. They maximize the damage of a spell, and bypass resistances, and possibly immunities as well. Could he tell that I’d be past my safe SP limit if I cast another counterspell? Is that why he’s risking using consumables or temporary charges of items? Or does he think one of them would make his spell uncounterable?

We have to outlast him, and contend with the horde, with him behind completely invulnerable invisible barriers of force. If I counter it though, the horde’s gonna break through and tear me to shreds before he even opens himself up to attacks by Lil and Teuila. Should I try another ice-rune empowered cone of cold to make a glacier? It’d be smaller than the one that was also enhanced by my knife, but, could it maybe halt the meteor?

I somehow doubt it. Rather, I think it’d melt under the meteor’s heat and pressure, and then cause a deadly as hell steam explosion in addition to the meteor’s maximized, resistance-piercing damage. This is bad. This is really, really bad. Lil, Teuila, and Te's Honoris Causa are trying to pierce the barriers, but it's futile.

As if Al'pa'ca could read my mind, he turns his gaze on me, his eyes afire, a sinister smile on his muzzle. The cocky bugger declares, "Now you face your fate, little kitten. It’s time to meet your maker."

Well crap. The meteor begins to descend, a roaring column of flame, an infernal deluge that sears the air, leaving the stench of burnt flesh and ozone in its wake.