Magic Breaker Ch 88-90

Chapter 88: Revenge

Norman has been to the third floor.

There’s a specific reason why he went up and came back. I asked for countermeasures on the storm, spending a minor request, and the tower told him that there were ones to find up there.

He has sold his requests for a very specific kind of artefact. Not heating ones, but something else entirely. He hands it to me. Something he traded a lesser request for. Three minor ones. And I hold that tiny thing in my hands.

It’s our ticket out of here. I know the others are freezing inside. I know they can probably barely remember me right now. The only reason Norman isn’t forgetting about me is because I’m right in front of him.

Already, I can feel the channels for that enchantment burning up. It was never meant for permanent usage, and between Norman activating it and now me, it’s running hot. Luckily, there’s a whole storm of ice to cool it back down. 

I breathe in the cold air, and feel all that terrible ice disappear once it reaches my chest. I look at the tiny thing in my hands. And I look at Norman. “Any trouble?” I ask.

“Some,” he says with a shrug, rubbing his shoulders. “I forgot how dang cold it is here.”

“Is the third floor more pleasant?” I ask.

“It’s warmer for sure,” he replies. “No less troublesome.”

Of course it wouldn’t be. But that’s fine. It had what we needed. “Any other factions we need to tackle?”

He raises an eyebrow. “No, I don’t think so,” he says. “There are some who tried to fleece me, but nothing that would mean we need to take revenge.”

I narrow my eyes a little. “They put the lives of my friends on the line.”

Norman gives me a long look, then an icy sigh. “Look, Snow. I’m freezing. I want to get out of here again. Even another minute in this storm will be too much. Just go.” He glances in the direction of the hut of corpses. “Make sure Inu and Jess come out of this alive. That it was worth it.”

Frowning a little, I rise to my feet. Warmth courses through me, fed by the cloak I enchanted. I pour more mana into it, fully activating each of the [Inscriptions], and the item flares to life. It hums and buzzes against my shoulders, the fabric billowing in the winds of the icy storm, keeping it off me entirely.

And the system knows it’s a masterpiece.

[Inscription 9 > 11]

[Congratulations!]

[Advancement achievement completed! Your masterpiece is accepted. You may now change your job.]

Very gently, I push the notification aside. There will be enough time for that once I’m out of this damn storm. It wouldn’t do to let my friends freeze to death. I take another breath, draw the cloak tight around me, nod at Norman, and walk outside.

- - -

Freezing winds. That’s all this world is. Icy cold, cutting winds, and the kind of wet snow that soaks through your clothes, chilling you to your bones. It’s bitterly cold, and I can feel the terrible storm biting at my lips.

The wind howls outside, and I’m entirely sure it’s not just the wind. It’s the fae, too. Spectres of ice, stalking through the storm. When everyone in that building died, it was finally the right time for us to move. 

Norman had gotten the cloak from me on the twenty-sixth day, letting him get to the third floor. He needed to be above the second threshold for that, of course. But we’d gotten him there. With [Unassuming Presence] and the mantle I’d made, as well as my help, he was able to kill enough of the fae to advance.

His epitaph was one of power. Movement and stealth. Being glanced over and forgotten.

So, he was able to escape. And then, when the bloodbath happened, he was able to pass the mantle to me, unnoticed by the distracted fae. And now, I held the little cube he’d given me.

Icy wind nips at my skin, but the heat from the cloak wards it off. I’d wanted to enchant it a bit differently at first, but this was fine. The inscriptions are based on a mix of Norman’s stealth skill, Jess’ skills for freezing and flames, and finally, a bit of Sylves’ fae-powers, as well as all the heating artefacts I’d analysed. In effect, the wielder was shielded from cold, hidden from cold, harder to notice, and welcome with the fae.

That’s why the storm can’t see me.

I am a guest, right now. And since I can endure the cold, the fae can’t lay a hand on me, hardly even knowing where I am. Of course, the guest-thing only works if they can’t see me, but with the other inscriptions, that’s possible. Just for a little while.

A small smile on my face, I venture into the storm. 

Ice batters against me, winds slamming into the dim cloak as mana boiled through it. My vessel is being drained, bit by bit, burning power to keep the enchantments going, but that’s fine. It was hard, but the less mana I have, the harder I am to notice. 

The fae wanted to devour us for our heat and our life. Fuck them. We’re gonna live. No matter what.

Step by step, I walk further into the storm.

It grows colder with every moment. Sleet falls onto me, and the ground is covered in heavy snow, making each step difficult. The storm is so heavy that it took only minutes for my footsteps to be erased, and it’s impossible to tell where I’m going through the thick fog.

Wails crash against my ears from the fae, trapped in the torrent of ice and death. They scream in hunger, seeking out more mortals to devour. The storm is hungry, and running from it was usually possible, if only there weren’t some delicious bait with us.

I breathe the frigid air, feeling my skin freeze over for a moment before resplendent heat leaches from the enchantments and into me, warming me back up. My shoes crunch down on snow, socks long since soaked through, but it’s just water.

Bit by bit, I drag myself deeper into the icy storm. The sleet intensifies, turning to ice. Thin, angry needles, prickling against my skin as they melt. Each one makes me feel the hunger rumbling through me, the fact that I haven’t eaten in days, but I [Suppress] it. More mana flows from my vessel.

And yet, there’s more. So much more. The stat is my highest by far, and empowered by my epitaph… I can keep going. I’ve even prepared bits of solidified mana to deconstruct and feed into my Abiding Apathy, allowing myself to keep marching.

So I keep going. Even when the wails make my ears bleed. Even when icy claws brush by only centimeters from me, forcing me to duck away. Even as more and more icy wraiths drift through the mist, where a single touch could bring down hundreds on me. 

Enchantments burn against my skin, the cloak overloaded by the mana coursing through it. I can feel it fraying, just slightly, knowing that it would break if I took too long. Frowning, I march on faster.

The ground turns from snow to full ice. It’s so cold that the grass turns into a perfect sheet of white. It’s the slipper kind of ice, but also with enough pointy bits that make it easy to break my skull if I slipped. But I don’t slip.

I walk on, and on, and on. Hearing the horrible wails, gritting my teeth and bearing with it. I walk, and walk, and walk, until I feel the enchantment in my cloak splutter.

Just once, it flickers.

A thousand wraiths turn their noses to me. Dreadful hunger mixes with the smell of blood in the air. I can hear the telltale clacking of claws on ice coming towards me.

Moving swiftly, I duck forward, running a few steps, making it just a bit farther. It’s now or never, then.

As the hungry wraiths stalk towards me, I place down the cube Norman gave me. My mana flares to life again, my vessel slowly emptying out, but I course it through the little device, anyway. 

It glows, humming to life, even as the ice clings to it. 

Then, the little cube ignites.

White light flows off of it, soothing my aches and the chill, but, most importantly, flowing outwards. A gentle, yellow-white wave flows through the entire storm, over the wraiths, into the snow, underneath the ice.

For a moment, the world goes silent. 

Then, it’s filled with abominable howls. 

After all, the cube is bait. Meant to attract the storm and feed it while we get out of there. And with every single starving monster within a few kilometres stalking towards me, I start running.

Chapter 89: Reliable

Escaping the storm is tricky, because while there’s the bait in place, my cloak’s enchantment also starts flickering more and more. The mana coursing through the enchantments grows unsteady, and it stops hiding my presence properly. The brief flashes of warmth escaping outside both make me a lot colder and allow the wraiths to see me.

And the ones who are too far from the bait? They prefer me.

[You have killed a lv. 32 Fogfae]

[You have killed a lv. 39 Fogfae]

[Level up! 32 > 33]

All three points instantly go into vessel, refuelling my mana to [Deconstruct] more of the fae. Finding their cores and then tearing them apart is all it takes, since they can’t hit me with manifested claws - I just break those apart - and the cold has a really tough time penetrating the cloak I’d spent close to a month on.

It’s just that good at keeping the cold out that their icy grip can’t worm its way into my heart.

But they still strain the enchantments. The cloak was made for this kind of cold, but at the end of the day, it’s still slapdash. With the amount of mana burning through it, it’s only a matter of time until it breaks, and each time I get hit by another swipe of misty claws, it degrades more. The fabric frays, the enchantments burn, and I’m not yet halfway through the snow.

So, I keep running, and running, and running on ahead. 

I duck under a swipe of claws, rolling through the wet snow, my face stinging for just a moment as my skin makes contact before heat bursts back into my blood. I dodge to the side, I destroy half a fae, I suppress another and run past. A short sword of solid mana forms in my hand, being used to turn aside blows and fight through the weather, even as needles of ice slam into my skin, breaking apart.

Then, one of the flickers stops the heating.

Instantly, ice clutches around my chest. I can feel my blood freezing in my veins, the way the heat leaches out of me in moments. It fucking hurts, but a tenth of a second later, the enchantment sputters back to life, and heat floods through me like a wildfire. 

It burns through my veins with a second burst of pain, my cells protesting the rapid changes in temperature. My skin cracks and starts bleeding from the contraction and subsequent expansion. 

Blood pools in red lines across me, but that’s fine. I slash my sword, beating aside another wraith and run, knowing that the storm will eventually ebb. All around me, the wind is tearing towards the bait, hungrily latching on to that beacon, made for the fae. Hundreds, maybe thousands of the creatures, run towards that part, and those who don’t want to go there are taken with the others.

Auras of frost and starvation brush by me, and I feel the hunger flare up again, but they all get suppressed. Each bit of complaint I feel gets tossed to the skill and devoured. Not a peep leaves my mouth as I sprint through the snow as fast as I can, each breath misting and making my mouth ache from the heating and cooling.

[Suppression 13 > 14]

Bit by bit, my mana drains. I fight the cold, the fae, the storm itself, the hunger, all of it. Every step is demanding, my body wanting to give up already, to just lay down and sleep, but I refuse to let it. I run, until the needles turn back to the heavy slush, slowing me down further. The snow is deep, too deep to sprint, so I can only manage a brisk walk, giving the fae more opportunities to descend on me.

The enchantment flickers again, calling them to me, making my skin crack in the terrible cold. I grit my teeth and tear more of the things apart, pouring droves of mana into the skill.

[Deconstruction 10 > 11]

My epitaph feeds off the murders, refilling mana with what remained of the ephemeral things. Bits of icy fog turn into mana, devoured by my apathy. My sword rings out whenever I fail to dispel their claws quickly enough, and I walk on, as fast as I can.

I move for minutes, the enchantment flickering more often, until a part of it finally breaks. My feet go numb rather quickly from there, but I still walk on, holding the pain at bay, trying to stop the cold from invading me. Yet, while focusing on so many different things, my focus lapses. A claw cuts into me, carving through a part of the cloak and leaving a long rent on my side. Instantly, blood pools on the outside of the wound, then freezes over.

More of the enchantments fail. I frown, and march ever onward. The snow is thinning, slowly, but the cold is still unbearable. It would kill me in a minute if I passed out, so I don’t. My eyes stay open, and I place one foot in front of the other, step by step.

Wraiths pour towards me when they spot me, but there are fewer of them. I walk, I cut, I destroy and devour and keep moving. 

The storm thins, step by step. The snow lessens. Each icy breath burns a little less.

And then my legs give in.

It takes me a second to notice. I try to lift my other leg, simply having expected the first to move, but when I shift my balance, I tilt forward. My arm flashes out, shortsword falling from my hand, reaching into the snow to stop my face from crashing into it.

Ice shoots up my veins, and my skin begins to freeze over. Abominable cold crawls into me, instantly numbing my arm. I can see it shaking, even though I can barely feel it. Very slowly, my elbow starts folding, even as I command it to remain up. Claws slice across my back, filling it with ice. 

My face touches the snow. The tip of my nose goes cold instantly. A sheet of white fills my eyes, promising me death. I can feel my Abiding Apathy stir at the thought. It doesn’t even care at the thought of dying, feeding off of that prospect, devouring the fleeting, ephemeral despair.

Slowly, I smile. My eyes sink into the snow, and it burns. The mark on the side of my face, Flametouched, is the only bit of warmth I retain. My skin turns ashen.

And still, I won. The storm is drifting away. Towards the bait. I can feel ghostly teeth sinking into my side, before I swat them away like a fly with [Deconstruction]. My last wisps of mana dispel the fae, but it doesn’t matter.

The cold embraces me. I close my eyes. My friends will live. Maybe that’s enough.

Then, a hand wraps around me.

“Get up, lazy idiot,” Thatch demands, dragging me to stand. He wraps my numb arm around his shoulder, but with me being unable to stand, that ends up being awkward. Instead, he just scoops me up into a princess carry. “Let’s get you home. I’ll call you a moron later.” He even has the audacity to shoot me a cheeky wink.

What a reliable guy. He presses a cube of fire and mana against my chest, right where my heart is, and I smile, ever so faintly. Not dying quite yet. Get fucked, tower. I close my eyes, knowing I’ll get home safe.

Chapter 90: Anger

PoV: Thatch Bream - Hush

I breathe, holding Snow’s sleeping body in my arms. Hanging there limply, my friend looks so fragile, and yet, so peaceful. Their usually expressionless face looks calm, almost peaceful.

Unlike me.

Right now, there is no one watching, and with the cold, I let the fire [Rage] inside me.

The sleet falls from the storm, touching my skin, and trying to invade me with ice. But it doesn’t stand a chance. Right now, nothing in this damn place does. Drawn aside by Snow’s moronic plan, the storm is weakened. Already, Malcolm is having people gather to move on and run. 

My teeth grind against each other. One of the fae approaches, hungrily. I can see it drifting closer in that icy way they move. Then I turn to look at it, staring the monster down. Snow’s asleep. I have nothing to hide anymore. “Fuck. Off.”

Anger [Channels] into my eyes, enhancing [Piercing Gaze]. I stare the creature down as its approach slows. I stare as fear crawls into its movements, and it stops. Then, it turns around, and disappears into the wall of sleet. Pathetic.

Carefully I make sure the heating cube is staying in place, warming Snow up. How ironic would that be, having someone with that name freeze to death? How silly.

No. 

My fury boils within me, moving through my veins like liquid fire, keeping me moving. The storm outside is nothing compared to the rushing of my blood in my ears, my heart beating like a hummingbird. It feels invigorating. Like life itself, boiling through me. It feels like coming home.

There are memories bubbling at the edge of my awareness. Ones that whisper about my anger, why it’s there, but I discard them like the trash they are. I am not an angry person. I am perfectly calm, quiet, and collected.

Fury boils through me anyway, and the snow hisses at the touch of the anger. That’s why I went out. Inu is tougher than me. Opal is faster than me. Sylves is more welcome in the storm. And yet, I went out.

Because while they can brave the storm, I can brave the wraiths.

Another one comes at me, and I stare at it. My eyes find its core in a moment, and activating the attacking part of the skill with everything I have, a lance of psychic angers spears through the thing.

[You have killed a lv. 38 Fogfae]

It falls apart into fine mist. They’re all pathetic.

The hunger pulls at my insides, churning my stomach, but it, too, is burned away by anger. 

I’m mad. I’m a kind and gentle person, but I’m pissed. This storm, these wraiths, almost killed my friends. The only people in the world I’ve managed to keep around me. Who’ve seen me beat people to death and simply shrugged it off.

And now, it wanted to kill them? Inacceptable. 

I walk forward, the [Rage] fanned by my thoughts. I hate the way it feels, the way it burns, and yet, I know it’s necessary. I can feel it in the way the storm pulls away from me. In the way that the wraiths are afraid. 

A snowflake lands on Snow’s face and I carefully, gently brush it away, stepping forward. Any wraith that approaches us gets burned, my skills working together. I make sure to remember this landscape, the way the snow falls. It’s pretty and picturesque even while I despise it. 

I make sure to remember it, to paint it in the landscape of my mind. Because I will be back, and I will wipe out every single wretched wraith who ever even thought of laying a finger on my precious friend. Snow’s blood stains my gloves, and I vow, then and there, to kill every single fae I can get my hands on once we’re strong enough.

Another one approaches, and my [Rage] flares so hard it levels as the fae disintegrates, but I disregard the notification. It feeds back into my epitaph.

Snow helped us all kill fae during the first few days on the floor. I got my epitaph a few days ago, through levelling up my class enough to get a supremacy level. I don’t love it, but it is helpful for me.

[Flashflood Rage (Power)

Boiling fury roils and breaks,

Then leaves a silence in its wake.]

It’s the way my anger works. It’s all consuming while it lasts, then disappears. My class stabilizes it, but the epitaph makes it especially powerful at destroying. Which is exactly what I use it for, at the end of the day.

The snow and the storm, all the raging, flowing ice, everything it is breaks against my anger. I feel furious. At my own powerlessness, furious at the wraiths, at the tower, at the world itself. At captain Malcolm for failing, at everyone who died for dying, at Snow for running into the storm and saving us all again.

Fucking idiot. Every single moment of this sucks.

[Rage 9 > 10]

Ice breaks against my skin, and I channel some of that heat into Snow. My anger crawls underneath pale skin, and I see heart flowing through those veins again. Under my [Piercing Gaze], I see Snow’s blood vessels. I also see the mana construct in my friend’s skull, where we’d agreed not to place them.

There are a dozen tiny experiments caged in parts of Snow’s body. The missing arm is filled with tiny inscriptions, pulsing steady streams of malformed healing into the stump. Crystalline constructs woven around my unconscious friend’s brain. Enchantments woven into the cloak that grew so hot they burnt into Snow’s skin.

And, of course, tiny glyphs of that skill they use to quiet the world around the ears.

I take a breath, seeing it mist in the storm and march onward. The ice is thinner now, and it gets easier to walk. My friend is an idiot. I’m so fucking angry. 

Then the fucker even has the audacity to crack a smile. Snow’s eyes flicker open. “Hey Thatch?” 

“Yes?” I ask, keeping the anger out of my voice and giving them a kind smile. “What is it?”

“What’s your dad’s name again?” Snow asks.

[Rage 10 > 11]

“William. William Riley,” I answer, through gritted teeth.

Snow smiles. “Got it.” The words coming from those lips are shaky and quiet. “Thanks.”

I recognize their tone. This asshole can’t even let me save them before going and making a promise to return the favour. “Just rest, you moron.”

“You only insult me when you’re upset. Can you explain later?” 

Damn know-it-all. “I will. Rest.”

“Okay,” Snow says, and falls asleep again, right there.

I march out of the storm, fuelled by anger. When the winds stop, my rage leaves me like a flickering memory. It washes away all at once, like a wave drawing back from the shore and back into the ocean. I take a deep breath, and ever so gently place my friend down on the grass. It’s wet from the melting snow, but Jess quickly brings a few flames over.

Inu and Sylves crowd around me, taking care of Snow with their skills. Opal picks up a sword. Their face is a mask of calm indifference, pointing the weapon at anyone who even tries to come close, not taking any chances. 

There is so much relief in the air. I [Channel] more warmth into Snow. And then, I look around, standing next to Opal. We both know it, at once.

If anyone steps up, we’ll smash their skulls in.