To Fly the Soaring Tides

It’s a far cry from true necromancy… but it sure is annoying. With this man’s methods, it doesn’t matter how broken the bones become. If anything, their degraded condition only solidifies his control over them. How troublesome.

All necromancy led back to death mana, but there were a few ways to get there. Cira created light via establishing a void in the darkness, so in theory she could even manipulate a creature’s lifeforce out in such a way to synthesize death mana. As long as all conditions for life were met except the presence of lifeforce, known simply as life mana or the ebb of one’s essence in some circles, death was still the natural result.

To be more specific, this was the true definition of undeath. The body, spirit, and mind. One, all, or a combination of these components must remain stable and conducive to life after experiencing a fatal incident. In this way, it was even possible for undeath to occur organically.

This was not uncommon with fossils. Given the conditions for the standard regret or emotion driven spirit were met, fossilized remains acted as something of a natural phylactery. This phenomenon was how the mystery mage’s skeletons could reform in an instant so long as they returned to the earth from which he drew most of his mana.

There was something to be said about the inefficiency of converting earth to death mana for every operation, but what irritated Cira the most was his absolute lack of utilizing the darkness necromantically. It was clear he’d reforged himself at least once—the man could turn himself into shadow. While it was an incredible ability that Cira was slightly jealous of, the problem lay in the fact that death and darkness were two peas in a pod. There was no way Cira would believe he couldn’t take advantage of that.

Of course, he still tried to crush them with shadows, but its absence in his necromancy was cause for concern. It wasn’t just that he refused to trigger her trap. There was just no effort being put into this fight. His skeletons were easy to defeat, which the crew was doing relentlessly, but they were endless. Aside from the pressurized darkness pressing in from all sides, the only sign of the necromancer was his occasional laughter. He hadn’t even started yet.

“So, what are we waiting for?” Cira goaded, “At this point you seem more like a bone golem guy. Am I right?”

Each had their advantages. Cira was always more partial to flesh golems because you couldn’t get any closer to one hundred percent muscle mass. It was harder to ethically source, but carrion made for quite the necromantic bounty in one’s day to day.

“Tch. Golems? Do you take me for a hack?” Unfortunately, no. Dodging skeletons made great cover for her enchantments, and by now Cira was layering on protections for the crew. “Nor are we waiting for my skeletal champion to appear. I don’t often receive guests, so forgive me for taking my time.”

At least he was honest. Constructs had many tiers, only known by name at their highest. While a skeletal doll may crumble if Cira looked at it wrong, a bone construct could achieve levels of power anywhere from an unnaturally sturdy revenant to a goliath. Any elderly necromancer should have one, but solace was found in the fact that it wasn’t on its way.

“Hey, I get it now.” Marko clasped his hands together as a miniature golden sun orbited him, “Not everything is in its right place. She meant the skeletons, huh? Undina basically told us this guy was here.”

“She did indeed.” Cira ripped a skull off its neck and stored it in her treasure pouch. A mere test. “Undina must have been expecting our fight. I’m sure she can’t wait to see the outcome.”

She didn’t say she never got visitors. Just not often. Her message was rather direct, as well. Of course, this fight was a form of entertainment she was looking forward to.

“Hah.” The man stepped out from the darkness, “You met that spirit as well—gyah!” Cira flicked a Sunbearer Coin at him. “Bitch!”

The man’s left hand exploded in a burst of light, but he was probably too dense for the effect to spread further. It started reforming as soon as it dispersed, leaving no sign of damage. A single handful of shadows was enough for such instant regeneration.

“You’ve got some tricks of your own.” Spinning her staff, the onyx clubbed another undead’s skull through the air and the man caught it. “Why don’t you show me a few? Even my crew’s getting bored here. We don’t have all day.”

“Are you crazy?!” Tawny with flames sprouting from each hand looked at Cira aghast, “Why are you always like this—”

As fast as a praying mantis’ strike, Cira placed one finger on Tawny’s forehead and pointed another at the necromancer. He had been poised to probably say another cool line and attack before Tawny cut him off to berate Cira, so when the stone chamber was bathed in pure, unrefined light, he was somewhat caught off guard. Just reflexively shielding his eyes was enough to miss the heart, but this beam of light pierced right through the necromancer’s sternum and molten stone from the distant wall behind dripped into the loose dirt and produced an odorous smoke. One of the rings on Cira’s fingers crumbled to dust.

While the necromancer shouted and healed his chest with a palm, Cira gave Tawny a side-eye as she recovered from the unexpected strain, “Start putting your mana to use. Until you increase your affinity with light, I need you to maintain a well of flames and perpetually condense it. This bypasses much of the hassle of casting on the fly. Begin with a fireball and continue to fill it slowly. These are known as passive reservoirs or just wells. If you want to contend past an amateur level—”

The necromancer’s frustration came to a head as the shadows receded like the tide and twisted into focused spindles, “The insolence! You think you have the luxury to turn this into a lesson? Just because you’ve read a few books, you think you’re anything more than a powerless whelp—”

The wind whistled as a Sunbearer Coin glinted through the encroaching darkness. The necromancer’s hood burned away and fell back as he narrowly evaded a shot to the cheek. The man’s hair was thin and ragged, like a fresh corpse.

“How many times have you been reforged?” Cira pressed, “Your weakness to light suggests you’ve made a great oversight. Were you not expecting to leave here?”

She spun her wrist back and twirled Shadow quill in a tight circle to form one Lamplight after the next before the necromancer took the bait.

With a reverberating gale of palpable death that clenched the lungs, “What do you know, child?” The wind died down and silence seemed to echo from miles away. Power surged beneath Cira’s feet in the form of faint tremors. Mismatched bones of all his fallen skeletons linked together to throw fists or claw at the crew’s legs. Kicks jabbed at their chests or swept their ankles, tripping Gil to the ground or interrupting the paladin’s holy conjurations. “This place will become your tomb, ignorant one.”

“One thing I know is nothing can cripple a sorcerer more than centuries of poor form.” With another brushstroke, all the Lamplights dispersed, filling the pocket of absent shadows with unprecedented radiance. While many of Cira’s previous runes were to defend against raw death, many more were to protect against light. The only individual without spatial refraction limiters was of course their necromantic adversary, who cried in a hundred overlapping voices of anguish as shadows coalesced around his form. He slipped away again as his condensed shadow spikes approached their peak. “Facing you here is no different than facing in undine in the sea, but don’t think for a moment that you’re escaping without a thorough lesson. I’m also interested in the way your corporea can transform into inert shadow—”

“You—how dare you study me, foolish girl. I am beyond your comprehension!” His twisting spines of shadow had formed an iron maiden in the engulfing darkness, and all pressed into Cira’s domain at once. “Today you face the Immortal Lord of Soil and Bone! Ebb and essence wither in my wake!”

The pressure was easily enough shatter the long-wrought haven even with the accumulated light, but Cira swung her quill around to let it all in. Each spine glimmered a violent white through her lens but turned to pure black as it pierced the threshold and was assigned a magic circle. Twenty-seven runic circles appeared from the fleeting shadows to take the shape of glimmering halos.

Two black spikes each made their way for Cira’s vital organs from different angles, while the remainders focused on joints in a vain attempt to limit her mobility further than she had already done herself a few weeks back. Within inches of reaching her flesh, each point became frozen in space while the magic circles rotated with increasing speed and effulgence.

Her whole crew save for the woman too old to be moving like that crumpled to the ground to avoid the attack despite it centering on Cira, but each protrusion of shadow slowly melted away in frail wisps of black smoke like a failed curse and was replaced with unrefined light.

In its purest form, light pervaded all. Much like her myriad suns of Fount Salt, not even earth could block pure, aethereal light waves, let alone its prey—darkness. But due to her protections, Cira and the crew would never bear its true glory.

Prismagora, oh Prismagora… It’s a true shame you could not join me for this exhibition.

Less than sentimentality, her father’s staff of light could actually be improved through such a display. Sadly, she could not focus on academics as the so-called immortal lord reminded her earlier.

“My father once told me that anyone who claims immortality is either a fool or a liar.” The myriad needles of shadow gave way to invasive light and each point dissolved into a single compound glyph. No Lamplight could compare to the advent of effulgence from Cira’s trap.

All her tricks were routed through the shadow void that was their only safe haven. The closer this man came to destroying it, the more power it gained upon resurgence. With his own mana as sustenance. Thus, the first summoning that Cira had performed in ages went off with unprecedented efficacy at twenty-seven points.

“N-no! You worthless bitch—how?!”

Like blooming flowers, sprites spread out and claimed their own stake of the shadows like basking in an omnipresent sun. From the twinkle of a distant star, they grew to the size of a flame sprite cusping on ascension in a matter of seconds.

“Do you get it now? Have you ever gazed upon an immature pholux?” Unhindered by anything in these skies, the rare sprites grew without restraint. The shadows disappeared faster than the fake lord could recall them. “How long do you think it will take them to mature here?”

Even ascended to peak form, her summons would heed her command. This was the terrifying nature of summoning sorcery. As a common sea cucumber would, mature spirits could split, and then it would become difficult, but that was future-Cira’s problem, assuming such responsibilities were thrust upon her. Due to her affinity, she wasn’t too worried about that eventuality, especially given the potential for blessings.

“Behold the glory of the Saint!” Marko’s entire white gold staff glowed with a vicious holy light that burned the material into dust as he charged a single luminescent sprite with divinity. The other paladins followed suit and even Tawny infused it with all the light she could muster for some reason.

“Hey, hold on…” Cira’s words died in her throat. Holy wasn’t a primary element, but it was a base. A very potent one. An element which fed off of most others, but also complimented light.

“You think you’re the only one who can summon sprites?” While the necromancer’s form disappeared, a conglomeration of shadows took his place. It was like a flame made of pure darkness, wisping upward and forming around some manner of core. An immature umbra. “Have you forgotten I have existed here for two hundred years?!”

“You will not survive unless you show me your trump cards.” Cira skipped two Sunbearer Coins across the ground and got one of his shins. It blew out a hole the size of her fist and he stumbled before the wound dispersed into a coarse smoke and reformed without delay. “Underestimating me will spell your defeat.”

Holes marred his robes as the cave gradually lit up in the radiance of Cira’s sprites, shriveling the undeveloped umbra. This was no proxy domain, but Cira felt at home as she did in the spring chamber in this light. The necromancer was nigh-invincible, but so was she after all the time he gave her to think.

“Weight of the world,

Fury of the desolate deep,

Besmirched by the shadow of yore’s omission,”

The Lord of Soil and Bone encanted a primal calling. The world cracked; shadows deeper than any other formed in the ubiquitous veil of darkness like a lightning strike on a dead tree. An ode to the void which existed before all.

“Let them know the wrath of absence.”

All trace of darkness drained from the conjured shadow sprite, replaced with something far more empty as the Necropolis of Archaeum trembled.