Magic Breaker Ch 70-72

Chapter 70: Eyes and Epitaphs

/”Philia is dead.”

“What?!”

“Killed by a rookie, Ion. Tried to abduct the newbie for a healing skill. The little monster hid in the tunnels for half a month, then came back and just killed her.”

“Holy fuck.” 

“Monsters. Absolute monsters.”/

-A conversation overheard in the city of Espiree, first floor of the tower.

- - -

I look at the still-warm corpse and sigh. “What a waste,” I  grumble. And she had to die pathetically, too. I hate when people ask me for stuff. And yet, her stupid goddess had to go and do just that.

[You have killed a lv. 52 Darkbreaker]

[Level up! 24 > 29]

All my points go straight into vessel, intensifying the pain in my chest, but it’s bearable. I just start feeding even more of my mana into my skills, keeping them active. Now that the danger has passed, a chunk of my regeneration gets fed to making denser and denser needles of mana, or [Suppressing] myself for training…

Ah, but before I get too distracted, yet more messages flood in.

[Respitia the Pure is outraged. She denounces you.]

The message carries a weight that I usually associate with another force, who I expect to comment soon. But, for now, I focus on the sensation that’s there. A weight of disapproval, of hatred, of a sworn enemy. Well, that’s okay. Just one more Eye to pluck from the sky.

[The Embrace welcomes Philia into their fold. It is amused by the inverted expectation.]

[Your cold-blooded murder greatly pleases the Master of Suffering. You are sponsored one minor request.]

[Aloofly, the Creeping Darkness praises your companion’s use of shadows. It is decidedly not dancing in excitement. You are sponsored one minor request.]

Those silly idiots. I almost smile at that last message. What an amusing critter. I suppose they’re allowed to hand out favours like that - the fact that I’m not offered a choice makes me think that there aren’t any strings attached. 

It does make me feel a little disgusted, like a dancing monkey. But, at the same time, it’s free real estate, so I accept it for now. The next message amuses me more.

[Second Threshold (supremacy lv. 25) crossed! Please select an Epitaph.]

Huh. I’m not dead yet, so I don’t imagine that’s what it means. Perhaps it’s a trait that’s defining enough to be remembered after my death? “Show me my options,” I tell the system. There’s a pause before that, and the same box about ‘being provided additional info’, same as when I got my class options, and I rapidly sit down.

My head floods. Epitaphs are, as it seems, another system pillar, next to classes and jobs and supremacy. They don’t operate with levels, though. Instead, you pick an epitaph for each stat.

They define something subtle about you, shaping your abilities in unique ways, strengthening the functions a stat performs. They’re, effectively, tailored enhancements, both passive and meant to be built upon. 

In a lot of ways, they change as you live, adjusting at one’s actions. They’re a path to walk down. Unlocking the first can be done through supremacy, as unlocking a class can be, and the others need to be found manually, like acquiring a job. It’s about self-dictating one’s own purpose.

I breathe, and repeat myself. “Show me my options.”

[Epitaph: Song of Scarlet (Heart)

You cut, you cull, you carve and kill,

You sing a song of blood to spill.]

I blink. That is a lot more sinister than I thought. Yet, at the same time, it’s true. I’ve done a lot of killing since the tower started, usually accompanied by a not insignificant rush of adrenaline. It does, in some ways, suit me. It also feels wrong.

[Epitaph: Vicious Void (Power)

A blank page, a starless sky,

Encompassing fury, eye for eye.]

Another one that fits me. Especially recently. When someone hurts me or my friends, they pay. Brutally, instantly, and excessively. It’s not even really fury, but there is no proper word to describe the cold hatred I feel when I want to cut someone down. But, at the same time, it’s so… aggressive. Not quite me.

[Epitaph: Abiding Apathy (Vessel)

Empty, dull, the need to take,

From broken bits you then remake.]

I close my eyes, breathing. Abiding Apathy. It’s… right. The others are too angry, vicious. This one is the only one that mentions me making something.

There’s a sadness in that. The fact that I was only given one option for creation, but it’s okay. This one’s better than the others. It suits me more. I wish, I really wish, that I’d earned something brighter, something more vibrant and kind… but that’s not me.

Sighing softly, I resign myself to the apathy that already washes over me again. I pick Abiding Apathy, and the sensation settles right into that hole in my chest. I can feel it resonate with my vessel, changing that tightness pressing against my sternum from the inside. 

And, all at once, I understand what it means.

Abiding Apathy is what it says on the tin. It reinforces that part of who I am, it puts a bit of my personality into my mana. The hunger, the curiosity, the desire to take things apart and take those parts for myself. It’s a simple effect, really.

Whenever I break magic, I can siphon some of that mana into my own vessel, now. 

It lets me take one thing apart and build another with it. It’s strong. Slowly, I breathe in, then out. I wonder. Philia was over level 50, so did she have something like this, too? Maybe something like brilliant recovery, I’d wager. A healing thing, or something to intensify her light skills. 

But if the first threshold was level 10, and the second 25… what’s the third? I’d guess it to be 50. She was barely above it, so maybe she didn’t yet wield it very skillfully? But I’m curious what she could have gained.

Then, gently, I discard that thought. My friends are, after all, still fighting. I wipe the blood off my hands and face, dirtying the crappy shirt I’m wearing. Then I stand up.

My feet feel shaky, the new sensation in my chest making the world feel a little dull. I adjust, and that feeling fades away. My mana beats in my vessel, feeling heavy in my chest. Is there an actual organ forming? What kind of thing would power make, if vessel and heart are organs?

Do different people manifest their stats differently? I’d imagine so. After all, Philia’s mana felt rather different from mine. All glowy and bright. Not at all like the dull grey most of my skills take on. I start walking as I think, slowly heading back through the tunnels.

Kuro cloaks me in darkness, and stifles the small noises my steps might otherwise have made. Slowly, steadily, I walk on, guided by the faint pull towards Elis I can feel. She’s fighting, and so, it’s prime material for an ambush. 

Let’s try out that new quality of my mana.

Chapter 71: Cleanup

[Level up! 29 > 30]

I stand above the corpse of another priest. A real shame, that. Killing so many healers surely will cause trouble for Espiree. But, oh well. It is what it is. They came after me, so they died. 

There’re better people to mourn them, I’ll leave the grieving to those.

“Whewee,” Opal says with a half-whistle, dragging a bloodied hand through their hair, staining the black with crimson. “That was intense. Didn’t think a buncha old farts could fight like that. Those paladins were fast.”

Inu gives them a long look. She’s not full of blood, unlike the others. Instead, the people around her lay dead with hardly any visible wounds. She’s running a vicious, thorns-style build at this point. Getting hit, rebounding people, banking that pain in her [Reservoir], then unleashing it on her enemies all at once.

When they’re stunned by the crashing wave of pain and fear, a single blow to the head means they’re done. 

“This was… horrible,” she says slowly. “Snow. Can you heal me, please? I think just about every bit of my body is bruised under that armor.” She gives me a small, awkward smile, but I nod, taking her gauntleted hand and pouring mana into [Biological Restoration].

[Biological Restoration 4 > 5]

It levels up instantly, the system recognizing the improvements I’ve made after breaking apart some of the healing skills of the priests. They were keeping the paladins alive, turning it into a battle of attrition. When those healing spells stopped working, it was over pretty fast. 

Inu’s flesh knits together, and I move on to do the same for Thatch. He is the most bloody out of all of us. Splattered in it, yet eerily calm. He looks at me, and I pull him into a hug. 

Slowly, his arms wrap around me, and a sob wracks his lips. “Fuck,” he says. “It’s… shit. I feel horrible.”

“I know.” I squeeze him harder. This kinda hug is cool. He doesn’t see my deadpan expression, just gets a little bit of warmth. I look at Inu, and she nods. Slowly, I let Thatch go. She talks to him instead.

“It’s the [Rage], right?” she asks.

Thatch nods, putting his face in his very bloody hands, drawing streaks of scarlet all over his handsome cheeks. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. My class helps but… it’s never been so real. So close. I’ve felt it but never… hurt people.”

Sylves pulls at my sleeve, and I turn to her. She points to a rock outcropping, and I nod. We sit down. She keeps a bit of distance from me, probably knowing that the hug with Thatch took all the closeness I can manage. Well, I could dredge up some more, but this is okay for now. Opal leans against the wall next to us, and we watch and listen as they talk.

Empathetically, Inu pats his shoulder. “It doesn’t make you less human.”

“It sure feels like it does,” Thatch says with a sad laugh.

I tilt my head. That’s something I never got. The obsession with being human. There’s nothing that special about being human, is there? Well, I suppose in this case it’s more being used as “a decent person”. How silly.

Inu nods quietly, hugging him again. “What about it feels bad?”

Thatch grinds his teeth. I look, and cast [Suppression] in a wide range. He looks to me, and I nod. “No one except us can hear you.”

Slowly, shakily, he nods. We’re not his parents, we’re not strangers. As friends, we all know the others are a little messed up, so he can say it, too. Let the image of perfection crack and fall away. He looks at Inu. “It feels right. To embrace it, to break people. I hate that I enjoy it.”

I stop the smile before it can spread on my face. It’s almost vindicating, hearing it. Thatch, always collected, always calm. Our best negotiator, and the kindest of us, is easy to anger. And that’s okay. I don’t like him any less.

Inu just nods, understandingly. “It’s okay. You’re still you, right? You’re in control. You haven’t hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it.”

Sylves nods at that, looking at the corpses again. Almost… hungrily. She has no blood on her, but she, nonetheless, killed them. I think her faerie magic somehow interacted with the blood, causing it to slip off her, or something like that. She’s still wreathed in wind and moonlight, surrounded by a faint smell of rot. 

“Yeah, I guess…” Thatch says, unconvinced. “I don’t wanna be like this all the time. I don’t want that… anger, all the time.”

“Skills can mutate,” I provide. “If you do it enough, you can probably change your [Rage] into something else.”

His eyes glint at that. Slowly, he nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I think I’d… I’d like that.”

I nod, and Inu gives me a small smile. I don’t think he’ll be able to get rid of the anger fully. It’s not like the system skills are granted randomly. Thatch was granted what he got for a reason. Just how Opal got their starting skills for a reason, and I got mine, and Sylves got hers.

They describe us, in a lot of ways. And Thatch? I’m honestly glad he was just hiding a bit of anger. If that’s everything, then I don’t mind at all. I take a long breath. What could he turn his rage into? I bet he can get something like [Tempered Fury] or similar. And I think Inu can help him with her [Reservoir]. Maybe I can even use [Suppression] on it, and we can work from there.

Already, ideas bud in my mind. “I got some plans,” I tell Thatch. “Combining or affecting your anger with our skills might help you change it a bit,” I explain, in the same way that when I took apart the healing of the priests, it helped me improve. “Let’s do some experiments when you feel a little more… grounded, yeah?”

He gives me a smile, and a tired nod. The desperation and despair slowly drips away, revealing a young man who is just exhausted. Drained to the bone. He’s covered in blood, but Sylves can take care of that. I drop the [Suppression], and the click-clack of the ants’ legs on stone returns. 

We won. 

As much as there is grief involved, and as shitty as it feels, we won.

And the tower knows it. Well, not quite yet, of course, but we have certainly changed the landscape of Espiree. With the church of Respitia significantly hurt in terms of power, the city would change. And the ants would get to claim more territory.

In fact, since things were so different, there was a real chance for the ants to sweep the city clean after some more growing, though I doubted they would. With Amelie pushing into the centipedes, and Philia so graciously wiping out most of the beehive, it only takes us a few more days to sweep to full caverns clear and have the colony establish more bases in them.

And then, once we’ve taken that territory, the tower acknowledges it.

[Ascension Quest completed. Revealing locations of Ascension Wells. Do not Ascend before reaching the first threshold. You have received one minor request.]

With this and the two I got from the Eyes, I have three minor requests. I could trade them all in for a job ascension, and getting a new job up from enchanter, but I don’t wanna use them on that. I look at the mana maze, at the runes that have appeared after enhancing it with the previous requests, and consider adding more. Or, I could enhance the water generating flask. Or maybe…

Maybe I should ascend to the next floor first, then make the decision. 

I sigh, just a little bit, as the colony hustles and bustles around us. “You’re staying here, then?” I ask Meg, and she nods. “You too?” I ask Elis, and she nods, too. 

“Yes,” Meg says. “The first floor is not the highest, but it is safe. I wish for my family to make a home here. Perhaps, someday soon I may ascend and start hives across the floors. But not quite yet.”

“Are the floors actually in the same space, above one another?” Inu asks.

Slowly, Meg nods. “Yes,” she says. “If we dig upwards for long enough, we may reach the second floor someday. This may be a good option, though it draws the tower’s wrath to ascend without the trial of a well. Anyone who has passed a trial though is free to use mundane means of travelling upwards.”

“I see,” Thatch says, then gives a small bow. “Then, we thank you for your assistance.”

Meg laughs, and waves him off with one of her barbed forelimbs. “Do not mention it, please. You helped us. You may be our champions, but we are your chosen colony, and for that, we are grateful.” She dips her head, and Elis mirrors the motion. 

There’s a small smile on my face. “Then, I suppose we shall see each other again, perhaps. Someday. I hope your colony thrives.”

“And I wish you luck in your climb,” Meg says. “May the tower be ever in your favour.” 

Then, we stand up, and leave. Cavern by cavern, tunnel by tunnel, we leave the area controlled by the colony. The haughty ant that I first met sees us off with a waving of her antennae. 

And then, we’re off, to one of those glowing points of interest. No one from Espiree follows after us, that’s for sure. There are, after all, thousands of ants in the caves behind us. With them at our back, all I need to do is look forward… 

And climb.

Chapter 72: Fame and Infamy

Espiree is in shambles.

A city on the first floor, robbed of half the leadership of one of the most important organisations. The entire floor is in uproar. Other cities have their local churches rally, sending more healers and priests to Espiree, taking the dangerous trek through the tunnels.

They take on more apprentices, passing on healing skills as much as possible, but the magics are complicated, and few people are suited to it. The church requires piety and kindness, and people who bow easily are rarely good enough. 

Snivelling cowards apply. Greedy scum applies. And, occasionally, someone who actually wants to help others applies.

They all get accepted all the same, because, to some degree, they need to save face.

Baron van Torin denies any involvement, and no one can call him out on the lie. He is, after all, powerful. The Keeper of the Tunnels, ruler of the city, refuses to intervene. After all, it did not happen in the city.

All they can say is that their strongest paladin, along with dozens of priests and religious warriors went into the tunnels, chasing after some stupid rookie with a chunk of missing skin, and not a single one of them has come back.

Bishop Ilyus slams his fists on the table once more. Dozens of letters are sprawled about the table. Dozens of requests for difficult healing procedures that they don’t have mana or manpower for. Climbers are dropping by the minute, and he can’t do jack about it. “That worthless swine,” he curses, thinking of the rookie.

Ion. That little monster. Crawling up from a newly integrated world with a party of rookies. It had been three weeks since they ran from the city.

Three weeks.

That’s how long it took them to kill someone over the third threshold. Someone with an epitaph and a shroud. Their strongest paladin stationed in Espiree, now dead in the tunnels. By the hands of some third rate nobody!

He slams his fists on the table, furiously answering letters. Ion, the monster rookie, was already in everyone’s mouths. Respitia had denounced the human, after all. The bishop’s wings, made of fragmented obsidian shards, shake in rage. 

Ion had to die. That much is certain, and he knows it. The question is just who to send on the hunt? The church isn’t exactly known for trackers.

Except… there is one. And wasn’t he on the second floor recently? Called down for a crime, almost banished, made to serve time in a lower floor than suitable. Slowly, a smile creeps across his lips. Yes, that’ll do nicely.

- - -

Harry has been an innkeep for the last twenty years. Him and his husband, Michael, a zoof, were damn good at it, too. Mike cooked, Harry served and took care of beds and rooms. They could do with someone to clean, but as an [Archon of the Bathtub] he did a fine job at that.

The most fun part, by far, was listening to rumors, though. Climbers are a gossipy sort, after all. It all runs on fame, y’see. Credit. Word of mouth. Anyone who’s known as being tough gets met with no trouble. Anyone known to stir things up is kept out of cities. True as the tower.

And so, when there is the third conversation that day about a rookie who stayed at his tavern, he smiles. Word of mouth spreads fast. “Tough one,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. And he knows it’s true.

Innkeeping is a lot of things. It’s about serving decent food, about keeping things clean, about providing respite and comfort and taking care of people. It’s, in a lot of ways, the opposite of climbing. But there are similarities, otherwise, not nearly as many climbers would retire to be innkeeps.

One of those similarities is interactions. It’s talking with people, it keeps ya sharp, it means you needa be a good judge of character. And Harry was a damn good judge. 

He spreads his wings, stretching them. They clink and chime in the faint breeze coming through the window, the stale air of the tunnels being kept in circulation by a terribly minor application of a class skill. 

Ahhhh, hearing those stories is nice. Listening about how Ion got revenge on the paladin from the church. He grins behind a bushy beard. Hearing of those exploits, the chase, the tricks, the trapped tunnels, the one-on-one, and the embellishments… It all takes him back to better days.

When he was younger, more ambitious. When he wanted to see the top. 

With a wet rag, he wipes down the counter, and his husband, all grey fur and dark eyes, comes from the kitchen. He places down a few plates, expertly balanced on his hands - and a few more floating in the air around him, then looks to Harry.

Beneath that fur, a smile sprouts. “My, my,” he teases with a rumbly voice. “Someone seems to have lit that fire in you again.”

Harry smiles, running a hand through his mane of hair, over his leathery skin. “You might say so,” he muses, quietly.

Michael wraps an arm around him. “What say you, husband. Shall we try to conquer the heights of the tower once more?!” the zoof proposes, loudly enough for the entire tavern to go quiet.

The innkeep’s cheeks turn a shade darker, and he gives the chef a quick kiss. “Not today,” he says, loudly enough for everyone to hear. Then, in a whisper, he adds, “but… maybe.” He looks up. “Maybe.”

Only one person in the tavern hears it, but the smile blooming on Harry’s furry face is all it takes. More rumors spread, his reputation well known. Perhaps it was time for this [Worldcarver] to walk up the stairs one more time? 

He kisses the chef again, for good measure, feeling that flame in his chest. Perhaps. Perhaps.

- - -

The Keeper of the Tunnels is one of the most well-known Eyes of the tower. They are, after all, the ruler of the first floor. This means that almost everyone who passes through it will come into contact with them in some variety.

Cities are their bastion, held together by guards and avatars.

One such avatar of them, the ruler of Espiree, rubs their face. “Damn it,” they say, running a hand over their hairless head, overworked. They haven’t slept in two days, fighting to keep the city stable as new hunters flood in and old blood floods out.

Usually, the tunnels of the first floor are stale things. They don’t change much. Every integration, that balance is upset.

New species flood upward from new extensions to the outside of the tower. Something that’s not even a floor, barely has any mana, and usually only features mana-based towerspawn during integration. And yet, there are always rising stars.

They look at a list, scratching at an unwashed, blank face, set with six holes. Sumeen. 

In front of them, there is a set of names. People who came up from below, accepted leaders of noteworthy parties, those who have made a stir. Ion, the monster rookie, who killed someone past the third threshold. 

Maximillian, a broad shouldered man with a strong sense for justice, who single handedly pummelled a thief to smithereens, earning a fierce reputation for his iron fists. Clone, a short girl with short, dark hair, and the ability to create copies of herself, having used her own body as a distraction to steal things. Caster, a tall, scrawny human with a grimoire, who, greedy for knowledge, spent all their given money on magic lessons, then plied that trade to earn more.

The hive-champion of the hiy’ht, Terror, and their ever growing army. There are three noteworthy wulven in the city, too, the warrior-siblings. Blood, Sweat, and Tears, who swiftly joined expeditions into the tunnels, returning triumphantly.

Once more, the avatar rubs at their face. Luckily, the rising stars were doing what rising stars usually did - they climbed. There was only so much for them to do on the first floor, but that meant their attention shifted. 

With a twist of their mind, the Keeper’s avatar sees the golden pillars that indicate ascension wells. They would be hotly contested, now, the outposts there needing reinforcements. Jobbers, ready to provide food, healing and shelter for those who failed to move up. Jobbers that the city could not spare.

They let out a long, melodically humming, suffering sigh. “I fricking hate rookies.” 

So much to do. So few people to put in the work. It was time to ask some favours then, shore up the tunnels, make sure the wells were accessible enough, make sure no one tried to monopolise them. Sometimes rookies did that, and drew the Tower’s Wrath.

It never ended well.

Another sigh, and then, they start drafting letters, casting an ability to have the thin strips of mushroom-paper fold itself and flap origami wings in search of their recipients. Allocating personnel, requesting that the leaders of guilds get off their butts and start putting in actual work, and doing their best to make sure the tunnels return to stability soon.

Tower knows they settled on the first floor because they liked the calm, stale air. 

“Stupid rookies.”

Already, they were infamous.