Magic Breaker Ch 37-39

Chapter 37: Ascension

“I want to climb,” Opal says.

It took a little while for everyone to wake up. Bay was tired after yesterday’s wall-disassembly escapades, but as we all eat a little bit of crappy dried food for breakfast, Opal speaks.

Sylves readily agrees. “Me too,” she says.

“Yeah,” Thatch says. “I don’t wanna be powerless again.” He gives me a glance.

I nod. “We’re climbing,” I say. It’s not a question, even as I see Norman frown slightly. Dar seems pleased, while Richard is entirely preoccupied with shovelling the remains of our campfire in her mouth. 

“Do we have to go up?” Jess asks. It’s not insecure in the way I expected. She’s not scared, or intimidated, it’s a genuine question on the necessity of it all.

“No,” I shake my head. “We don’t. I think most descenders will be gone when promising candidates have ascended. Things here will be somewhat safe, somewhat stable, but crappy.”

Inu glances at me, and I nod. She should explain it. I can already feel myself growing tired of talking. “There will be problems staying on Earth,” she says. “I’d wager there’ll be more monster spawns. You’d need to figure out sustainable food, rebuild a modicum of society, and decide how to do wealth. And, of course,” she adds, “there is always the chance of someone coming down and just taking your livelihood.”

“Now, if you stay allied with us, we can smack them around for it afterward,” Opal says. “But that won’t stop anyone in the moment.”

“There is also a chance some of you will be used as hostages,” Sylves adds.

It’s the age old thing. When everyone has superpowers, having bigger superpowers is the best way to defend yourself. Laws are lovely. They are punishments for deeds that make people unsafe. But the guns have already been handed out, and there is nothing better than a really big shield. A bunker. And that needs suitable powers, too.

I take a breath, as Inu goes on. “Earth will need to be restored,” she says. “I’m sure there are people who have jobs, who intend to take care of this place, of our new ‘floor 0’. That’s Earth’s new identity, plain and simple. I don’t intend to be weak. The stronger I am, the more I can help. So, I’ll climb.”

“Why do we need to climb to become strong?” Jess asks again.

Opal laughs, for just a moment. “Because it’s obvious,” they say. “This place, the tower, wants us to be strong. To put on a show. To reach as high as we can. Burn like brilliant little fireworks. I don’t intend to burn out, though.” A vicious grin slowly spreads on their face. “I intend to climb.”

“Some people have advantages on us,” Thatch notes. “People who were integrated before. Maybe even people who were born in the tower. We don’t know how big it is, how long it has been around, which planets it has been to, whether it’s limited to our universe. There are descenders, though. People who have made it high up, and came back down. Somewhere in the ascension, there is inherent power.”

“Climbing is probably a way to level supremacy,” Sylves says, and I nod. “Proving to the tower, to the world at large, that we are good enough to ascend. Maybe there are limits placed, depending on what floor we reach. Soft caps, or something.”

I nod. “But we’re speculating,” I say, cutting the conversation there. “The only way to find out is to climb. You can come with, or you can stay,” I say, rising to my feet. “I’m climbing. System, how do I ascend?”

At that, the sky breaks.

The eyes part in a few spots, a few thin pieces where something happens, properly.

Pillars of light slam down from the sky. Ascension Wells. The name pops into my head, explaining what they are. Like stairwells, but entirely different. A challenge, placed by the tower itself, tribulation and opportunity at once.

“That’ll do it,” Opal says, smiling, hefting their sword onto their shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Amelie rolls up next to them, wheelchair pushed by one of her puppets. Sylves floats up, Inu rolls her shoulders, and Thatch rubs his eyes. I take a deep breath as we all gather, and head for the nearest ascension well.

“Will there be things to set on fire?” Richard asks.

“Absolutely,” I tell her.

“Delightful.”

- - -

When we near the ascension well, there are gunshot sounds. By now it feels like virtually everyone has a gun, be that from personal ownership, stealing it from a shop, or taking it off the corpse of a police officer. 

It’s in the middle of the forest, and as we break through the tree cover, I immediately spot two dozen people duking it out. The scene is mesmerizing. Skills flying off in all directions, blasts of element, shimmering mana, people swinging weapons, sneaking about… it’s beautiful, in its own messy, chaotic way.

I see a shirtless, built man tossing around boulders. A lanky, scholarly looking person reading from a suspiciously glowing book. A girl that there are two copies of, moving in perfect sync - and for a moment I wonder if they’re twins with a communication skill, or a single person with a clone skill.

Then, I look down.

There’s a glowing circle inscribed in the grass, and as soon as my foot touches it, I get a prompt.

[Ascend?]

Yes.

[Challenge: Sphinx’s Riddle. Your power is without question. Your knowledge as much boon as burden.]

The world around me shimmers. All the other climbers disappear. Everyone gets their own challenge, it seems.

I thought there were some party based ones… but if there are, then I’m not seen as part of our party. That’s fine, though. I don’t mind it. Slowly, I take a deep breath, closing my eyes.

Beneath me, the ground changes to become sand. Dunes and dunes, the illusion stretching on endlessly. I know it’s fake, because the sand doesn’t immediately go into my shoes. In fact, it feels almost soft, rather than the usual uncomfortable, grainy sensation. Like it sticks to itself more than anything else.

For a few brief moments, I enjoy the feeling of the sun on my hair. It’s comfortable for all of ten seconds, then it becomes a little too warm, and the illusion settles down to be more temperate. “You’re adjusting this to be comfortable for me,” I say. “Stop reading my mind.”

“You could tell I appeared?” a feminine voice asks. 

I shake my head, smiling. “No. I just guessed.”

“Fine, then. Do you still want the sun to be cooler?” it asks. 

“Yes,” I agree. I wanted it in the first place, but I also want them to ask, not just assume. “How long do I have here?”

“Time is still the same as outside the illusion. The faster you finish, the greater your rewards.”

For a second, I hum, keeping my eyes closed. “Hmmmmm. Fine,” I say, opening them, looking upon the sphinx. It’s titanic, made from beige stone, yet surprisingly animate. It seems to paw at me, coming up against some sort of barrier. 

“I will give thee riddles three,” it says.

“If I answer wrong?”

The sphinx’s face twists into a feral grin. “I shall eat you.”

A small smirk places itself on my lip. “That’s a lie.”

It, no, she blinks. “How did you know?”

“I just guessed,” I shrug. The creature eyes me curiously, but before she can ask more questions, I speak up again. “Give me your first riddle.”

A moment passes where she just eyes me. With something between curiosity and amusement. Then, she moves on. “This one should be easy for you,” the giant lioness purrs. “It has keys, but no locks. Light and shade, intertwined. It shares things with a circle, and with rejection. What is it?”

Fun. I like riddles. “A piano,” I reply. 

The sphinx grins. “Correct,” it replies. “Pi-a-no. What a silly musical instrument. Do you enjoy playing it?”

I smile a little. “I suppose so? Sure.”

“Next riddle?” she asks, tilting her head.

I nod.

“What can be high or low, must always be cleared, held to yourself or to others, on a fail you might sneer? To pass is the minimum anyone would expect, the very default choice if you want respect. And yet that same thing always runs ahead, low but unreachable, it causes much dread,” the sphinx says.

That is much harder. Much, much harder. At first, I think of… a bar? People want you to pass it, but it moves ahead. Expectations? But those aren’t really held against anyone. 

Then it clicks. “Standards,” I reply. 

Once more, the lioness grins, clapping her rocky paws together. “Wonderful!” she praises. “Delightful. I wish I could ask you more, but I will have to live with this one being my last,” she says.

“Looks down from up high, way up in the sky. Bigger than any human comprehends, and yet so small, it can fit in your hand. And often, so often, it ever falls, and yet never touches the ground at all. What is it?” 

“The sun,” I say with a small smile. 

At that, the sphinx rumbles with laughter. “Yes! Yes. Delightful. I-”

“Sorry, could you talk a little more quietly?” I ask. The thing is big, and its exclamations of happiness, while sweet, are causing me a headache.

“Oh, of course,” she says. “Sorry. I got carried away. You have succeeded my trial, delver, and earned your ascension.”

[Level up! 14 > 15]

All three points go in vessel. The sphinx begins to shimmer and dissipate, the illusion vanishing. Then, it shoots me a grin. “I like you, human! Have a final riddle. I am the solution to any problem. The key to all locks. Enough of me and you shall want for nothing. And yet, I will never be enough. Chase me and you will forever fail, but find me in yourself and you shall prevail!”

And then, the image cracks and falls apart. A final riddle, just for me. The sphinx… was it real? I’m curious. She felt kind. Childish, in some ways, but still sweet. Clearly trying to help me, I think. At least at the end there.

I don’t think she would have been quite as excited to help me if I’d failed her riddles, but that’s okay. If someone insulted my favourite genre of music, I’d probably also be a lot less excited to keep speaking with them. That’s only reasonable, really.

The illusion keeps breaking, flaking away, except this time, I’m not returned to the real world. Instead, as the desert fades, I find myself in a stairwell.

[Challenge completed. Ascend.]

And that’s exactly what I do. The first floor awaits.

Chapter 38: Special Interests

All it takes is a single step on the stairwell. All I’m permitted is one stair upwards, and then the light shunts me right back out. Space twists, and I feel a sense of irreality crawling over my skin like ants. Then that same sensation comes one more time as reality snaps back into place around me.

I made it. The first floor. 

It’s… unlike anything I expected, yet blatantly simple. Behind me, there is a glowing arch, hissing against the fabric of reality. It must be the anchor for our specific ascendancy well, and could probably be used to get back down.

[Congratulations!]

[You have made it to the first floor! For your performance in the ascendancy well, you have acquired 1 minor request.]

Before asking, I take a moment to look around me. The first floor is… dark. That’s the first real thing I notice. I’m underground, in a cavern, with very little light. For once, it feels like I shouldn’t just spend this favour on another training tool.

Granted, at this point, with my job as an enchanter, any magical item was a training tool, since I could take it apart when I was done with it. That sounded fun. What items did I wanna be able to make?

I wanted a soft, lovely hoodie. But that would probably have to wait… for this place, I’d need to focus on my immediate survival needs, first. “I would like a bottle of water that fills itself, distilling it from the air, or purifying any water placed inside it.”

For a moment, there is a delay, as if a hesitation, but then a new notification rings out, granting me my wish.

[Reward: Phial of Refilling.]

The tiny device pops into existence in my hand, weaving itself from magic so delicate it’s impossible to tell what happened. Did the space around me warp, placing it there? Did it get made from pure mana? I trace my fingers across its surface, and feel [Inscription] resonate. There are runes on there, I can tell. 

Slowly, a smile spreads on my face. What does it do? How do I use it? I cannot wait to find out. I sit down on the floor, waiting for the others to appear.

- - -

The second to make it out is Amelie. She looks at me with a frown, creasing her eyebrows, then huffs. “As expected, I suppose,” she mumbles to herself. 

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Hmpf!” she huffs again, looking away. Her puppet turns her wheelchair to face the opposite way from me. “At least this tower has thought out its ascendancy mechanism. I was presented with a ramp.”

“That’s good,” I say.

“My challenge was one of brute strength,” she chatters on. “My puppets had to crush their equals, a mirror image of my summoning, setting a test to my conductive skills. Not that there was any doubt I would succeed.”

“Of course.”

“Would you rather I remain quiet?” she asks. This one isn’t as loud or boisterous as before, and I turn to face her.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t mind either way.”

Somehow, that makes her deflate even more for a moment, before she squeezes the armrests of her wheelchair, and then turns to face me. “Fine,” she says. “Fine. Then I shall keep talking at you.”

I nod, tracing the runes, splitting my attention. “Okay.”

In this case, I don’t mind. The enchanting is a tactile and visual experience, leaving me free to listen to her. My fingers slowly trace the runes while the princess-like girl talks to me. Or, at me, as she so eloquently put it.

“It seems that we will need some items to survive this place,” she notes. “A light source, and something to generate consistent water and food. Do you believe there will be critters in this place? Spiders, centipedes? I’m almost sure there will be. Frankly, I find the idea of comparing my threads to those of spiders rather amusing. I am sure I could learn much from the critters. Do you think having eight hands would suit me, Snow?”

“Sure,” I say.

“Have you considered growing more hands? You could probably carve more enchantments. Well, perhaps you do not yet know where the future leads, and that is fine, too. But I shall wear nothing but the softest silks. I shall have Sylves fashion me a dress-”

“Soft silk?” My ears perk up. “You can make soft stuff?”

“Oh,” she hums, happily. Teasingly. “Did that catch your attention?”

I turn to face her, briefly putting down the vial. I nod, entirely honestly. “Yes. Clothes make me want to tear my skin off, but I hate being naked. It feels disgusting. I like pretty stuff, though I prefer plain colours. Greys and blacks, mostly because I can wear them for a while and no one minds.”

She blinks, surprised at the blatant honesty of my answer, then clears her throat. “Right,” she says. “That… seems in character for you. A peasant like yourself-”

“Don’t talk down to me,” I tell her.

“A person like yourself wouldn’t seem to value embroidery too much. I aim to wear the most wonderful garments,” she says. “I love dresses. Especially white, bridal ones. They are so lovely, you know? I always wanted to have them.”

I nod. “Right,” I say, focussing back on the phial.

With a little bit of surprise, Amelie pauses, then laughs a little. “Well. I wouldn’t want to marry, of course. I have no real interest in other people. Romantic or sexual.”

Ever so slightly, I incline my head. Half at curiosity at the rune, half at her. “I see. Aroace?” I ask.

She nods. “So it would seem. And yet, the bridal dresses always seemed alluring. Imagining the way they fall, the sounds they’d make if I walked in them- ah.” She pauses. “I could never walk in them, of course. But it is a dream for that very reason, isn’t it? Because it’s unattainable.”

“I always wanted to learn magic,” I say.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Amelie asks with a slight laugh. “I also always imagined myself learning magic. Slinging fireballs, or raising necromantic armies. Amusing thoughts, nothing else. And yet, here we find ourselves, do we not?” 

Another pause in the conversation. Amelie looks at me for a long moment. “You’re surprisingly easy to talk to,” she notes.

“Sure,” I nod. It didn’t feel like I particularly contributed to that conversation, but I don’t mind if she got joy out of it. Her interest in soft cloth only stands to benefit me. I smile a little at the thought. I need to learn how to make self repairing enchantments as soon as possible. The softest shirt awaits me.

“Thank you for your company, Snow,” Amelie says.

I give her a look. Pulling myself away from the item. I look at the girl in her wheelchair. Maybe this is one of those times where I should try to be kind? Probably. I can tolerate her, I suppose. “Sure. Wanna talk about your favourite dresses a bit more?” I ask.

She smiles, happily. “Gladly.” For a little while longer, she proceeds to talk, thoroughly enjoying herself.

And then, after some time, the arch behind us lights up again.

Chapter 39: Grouping Up

With some surprise, I note that the next person to emerge is Norman, of all people. I kind of expected him to fail his challenge, but he makes it through, shortly followed by Jess. 

The man stumbles out of the portal, crashing against the rocky wall, barely catching himself, then slowly sliding to the floor. He’s bloody, hurt and in pain, but he laughs. “I survived,” he says, his voice rough.

Jess, compared to him, walks through with cold dignity. When her eyes fall on me, she smiles faintly, too, that facade of untouchability softening. “Hello, Snow. Amelie. I see you have also made it,” she says.

“It’s okay to cry,” I tell her, holding my phial in one hand as I walk over to Norman. Gently, I [Select] him, then I twist my mana in that strange pattern, knitting the worst of his wounds closed. To him, I say different words than to his wife. “You levelled,” I say. I checked. “Place a point in heart.”

“What?”

“You’re bleeding out,” I say. “Place a point in heart. I don’t wanna waste more mana on you than I need, in case someone else gets hurt.”

Jess, behind me, stands frozen like a statue, staring at me and her husband. I throw her a glance. “It’s okay to cry,” I repeat, with the same calm indifference as before. There is nothing special about the statement, really. It’s silly for me to give her that permission, but…

Her expression remains cold. “Thank you, Snow, but I’m okay.” 

Turns out Jess is a liar. Well, I tried. Letting her be stoic, I turn back to Norman, and it seems he finally decides to listen to me, as his skin knits back together. He grimaces, and I [Suppress] his pain a bit. “Damn it,” he winces. “You couldn’t have let me enjoy the win a bit longer? Said it a bit more nicely?”

“Said what more nicely?” I ask, tilting my head. 

“Calling me a waste of mana,” he says, staring me down.

I shrug. “You had points. But, sorry.” 

With that, the conversation is over. Jess kneels down to him. “I got an item for water,” I tell them. “Please use your requests to sort out food and light, maybe shelter.”

“Requests?” Norman asks. “What requests?”

Hmmm. Maybe they didn’t earn any. Or they haven’t read the notifications yet. Oh well. I trace the runes on the phial again, waiting for the arch to glow and spit out someone else - and it does. Not a member of our group, though. It’s the shirtless man, broad shouldered. He whistles as he looks around, his torso covered in cuts.

“Whoooowee!” he says. “This place rocks. Who’re you people?” 

I don’t reply. He steps towards me, sitting on the floor, closest to the arch, and reaches for my shoulder. I pull a knife and-

“Don’t touch Snow,” Amelie warns him, and the man stops. 

Slowly, he turns to the girl, running a hand through his dark beard, grinning widely. “Or what, girly?” he asks. 

Amelie looks to me in reply. I say nothing, and the man’s eyes drift to me again. Then, he breaks out in laughter. “My, my! You’re a boisterous little rascal,” he says noisily. “Bahahaha! I like youse. Join my team.”

“No,” I reply.

“Come on. They’ll be through any-” 

“No.”

At that, he raises his hands. “Fine, fine! No need to give me that look. I’ll be… sitting in that corner exactly, until the rest of my comrades show up, yeah? Ah, if you hurt any of ‘em, I might needa smack you a bit, yeah?” he flashes me a smile at that last bit.

It feels a little like a promise. Then, he heads off to the side, sitting in the corner he gestured at. I take a long, deep breath. What a pain. A cavern, slowly filling with people. What a nightmare.

One by one, people trickle in. I focus on the small things, engaging with Amelie and the enchantments. Thatch comes with Inu, both in one piece, Opal with Richard, mildly injured but okay. I save my mana, even now. Until Sylves comes through.

Missing an arm.

I dart to her side, and she stumbles into my arms. There is no talking, things just happen. Inu uses [Empathy], and some of that pain flows into me, and some into her, being [Resisted] and [Suppressed]. Richard helps, too, and I see Amelie already creating bandages from her silk. 

Very, very gently, me and Opal lean her against the wall on the cavern. The muscular man gives us a sad look, but I ignore him entirely. Instead, I focus, sharpening my mind more than ever before. I forget about the runes, about enchanting, about taking things apart. I focus on choosing. 

With everything I have, [Selection] triggers.

The world becomes like the point of a needle. I forget the cavern, I forget her pain, none of it matters. Everything falls away to the single purpose I have. Healing her arm. Making the waterfall of blood stop.

[Selection 6 > 7]

I breathe. Letting it all fall away, pouring myself into the mission. There is a task to be done, and nothing else matters.

Mana courses through me. It’s allowed to exist in this minimized world of mine. Brilliant strings of blue and grey in my chest. But right now, I need them to do a specific thing. To stop the bleeding. To turn into muscle and flesh and veins and to close the wound. 

Strand by strand, I twist the mana, the world slowing down. I’ve practiced this a hundred times over and was deemed not good enough. Now is my chance. Now, I need Sylves to survive. Not to bleed out. 

I form that shape, the terribly complicated one, reduced down to something just mildly horrifying. My eyes bleed, I’m sure, but it doesn’t matter. I cast the spell, and it lands on Sylves. Her skin wriggles, growing back slightly, but it is not enough. 

Again. I pour more mana into it. I simplify things, I make them as easy to understand, as efficient as I can possibly make them. I trace an even simpler design onto her with my finger, faintly glowing lines in the air. My hand is steady, unshaking, unwavering.

It is not enough.

With every slowing beat of Sylves heart I feel my own failure creep in on me. I discard that fear, and focus the world in tighter. Sylves’ face fades from view. My own legs disappear. It is me and the wound.

I cast the spell, and the skin wriggles once more, and I know that it will never be enough.

Another reduction. Less. Less. The muscles don’t matter. I don’t need to regrow anything, not yet. I just need her to live. Everything non-vital gets discarded. Skin? Who cares. Muscles? Unnecessary. Veins. Those, I need to close.

A deep breath. Another, twisted, malformed cast. A spell that doesn’t reinforce, that doesn’t properly heal, it’s about survival. It’s about keeping the heart beating.

My mana strikes forward, a torrent of it, through all of the inefficiencies, the simplified pattern traced onto her arm - and it works. My mana threads into the wound, seeping into it as a tiny cloud of dull white, and the blood slows. 

One more cast, this time, pouring even more power into it, scraping against the bottom of my vessel. I have it. I hold the spell. I modify it one more time, carefully, only doing what I know, with certainty, will succeed. It must be enough. In this reduced world, my will imposes itself on reality and demands it be enough.

[New Skill acquired!]

[Flesh Restoration 0 > 1]

Mana spins, whirls, creates fractalling patterns that cycle in on themselves, complex patterns that are just a bit better than I ever could have made them, then courses into the wound. Her arteries close. Her veins grow shut, making tiny cycles to allow for circulations.

It’s an ugly, raw thing. Her skin hangs off it in loose flaps, torn and sheared muscle fibres still meeting open air. But the wound is closed. No more blood.

I breathe a shaky breath, and the world comes back into focus. Sylves’ eyes are closed, but her heart beats. Another breath. My pants are stained with a pool of blood. Sylves’ chest rises and falls.

It was enough.