The dark tunnels of the cockroaches's cave smelled of gore, yet Dave had grown used to it. It also helped that Erin started emanating a beautiful scent that somehow covered the smell building up in the tunnel. As it seemed it was her sweat.
They had been under there for at least a couple of hours, and although the Fay said that she could orient herself, Dave feared they were getting lost. But, he drew away from that thought and instead basked into another one, killing the cockroaches that Erin allowed to come his way.
She let one pass for each wave that came at her, then with time one Scrapster became two, and after the ninth wave, they became three. He was now successfully handling three of them simultaneously; he simply had to act smart and fast. There was no need to shut their eyes with Arcane Missiles; the most intelligent thing to do was to aim them at their flame-shooting appendages. It took just one missile per flamethrower to impair them, and sometimes they even caught on fire.
It seemed that what enabled them to use fire was not magic as much as it was a biochemical reaction, or so Erin had said.
Homing Arcane Missile (Fast Magic-Skill) reaches level 6. 1.5% Well filling per cast. 6% increased missile agility.
The last kill managed to reward him with something unexpected.
The Source
Your Class level reaches 6.
Mind + 1, Resilience + 1. You receive 1 Attribute point.
David placed the free Attribute point into Mind, then summoned his Status. He was still fighting them as he did so.
Status
Name: Deviant (David Anderson) Son
Blessing: Blessing of The Source (Unique) – Resilience + 1 every Level
Title: Trespasser (Unique) – First Perk
Level: 5
Arcanist, Class level: 6
Class Perks: Source Sight
Attributes
Health: 99%
Stamina: 78%
Well: 18.5%
Alacrity: 5 (5.8)
Constitution: 5 (5.8)
Perception: 4
Strength: 5 (5.8)
Mind: 22
Resilience: 19
Charisma: 4
Attribute points: 0
After happily nodding to his progress, Dave prepared to kill the last soldier Scrapster. Erin had already finished with her creature; she was looking at the way he moved.
"So, let's see if I understood it clearly enough…" Dave said to her as he dodged to the side the last Incendiary Scrapster's rush attack then punctured it with the Bone Blade, "Arcane, Blood, Dark, Fire, Force, Light, Lightning, Mental, and Water."
"Yes," Erin said. "And I see that you are starting to move much better," she added, nodding satisfied.
Multitasking reaches level 7. Split your focus in two with 7% increased efficiency.
"Oh, that's just Multitasking playing dividends; I'm not really that good."
Indeed, Multitasking had started leveling up as he focused on shooting two missiles at the same while aiming at the two fire-producing appendages.
"There is no reason to diminish yourself, Davi. Your Skills are yours, they define you, they are not an addendum," she said, motherly.
"Well, then thank you," David shrugged.
"Getting back to the topic, as I told you before, Biomancy can be correctly formed by choosing Blood magic first, then Dark as Secondary Magic, and Water as Tertiary Magic; when Skills reach their maximum Rank, Biomancy comes into play."
"So, this Specialization can only be done with three types of magic?" Dave asked after he recited the prayer for the Scrapster.
"Every twenty Levels and up to Level 60, you can add a Specialization to your Class, after that a Class is entirely formed. Then another Class formation opens up, but it can specialize each forty levels... Then another, every eighty levels, and so on...but...it's already rather unrealistic to think about reaching those levels, is it not?"
"Yeah, I bet…"
Erin raised her index fingers and made them touch, "Primary Magic fuses with Secondary Magic, their fusion creates the first Specialized Class; in my case, I fused Blood with Dark, with Blood as the basis, that created Hex Magic."
Dave nodded, then leaned on a wall of the dark tunnel to listen to her speak. "So you were an…Hexer before?"
Erin nodded, her index and medium fingers now touched together, then she raised her left hand's index finger, bringing it close to her right, "Choosing a Tertiary Magic System, Specializes a Class once more. In my case, fusing Water magic to Hex Magic evolved my Class from Hexer to Biomancer," she formed a single unit with the fingers of her right hand, the last one remaining free was her thumb.
"Alright, that's not exactly easy," said the deviant. "So what if one reached the...60 plus forty is 100, then 140...180tieth level? Would the newly formed Class...fuse with the previous one?"
She shook her head, "No, they are treated differently. Distinct and separated, yet both existing at the same time."
Dave continued on a separate topic, "You told me that if I wanted to, I could take all three basic Classes, so you could take Fighter and Rogue if you wanted? How would that work?"
"You want to know if you could create a Class out of them? Yes. You can, and you would create a different Class based on the order and in which you chose them. Some people do that, but—" she shook her head "—in my opinion, it is entirely useless. Those Classes are simply...not worthy...But maybe I shouldn't talk, you are still too inexperienced and I'm not the best teacher."
Dave smirked and smiled, "And what do Fighters and Rogue specialize into?" Dave frowned.
"Their Specialization is tied to the Nine Elements, just like ours; they simply use it differently from us Mages."
"Oh, that's much more clear now," it still seemed that there was a long road ahead of him, but at least now he knew how things worked, "So, what should I specialize into?"
Erin chortled, "As I told you, I'm not the best teacher. Besides, you have a very important Title, you should build your Class around that. And we might have to find someone that knows about Trespassers. Maybe some Specializations tie really well with your Title. It's unwise to fill your head with useless information; however…" she continued after tapping with her fingers on her knee, "you are leveling really quickly, so we should consider that as well…" she got up, pacing around a little, "but don't worry, before you reach that, I will take you to someone trustworthy. For now, we had enough rest; let me reapply our buffs, then we're off."
"Alrighty then," Dave conceded.
They headed back into the dark tunnels.
***
The sky had cleared up in Varya; it was morning now, even if really early, yet not for Virael. The captain waited, impatient, sitting on the Ancient's balcony, staring at the people that analyzed the cicatrix in space. As it seemed they had not taken enough data about it before it disappeared.
His foot beat against the balcony's asphalt; they should have come sooner. A'astor should have acted earlier, and he should have been more direct. It would be morning soon, and in a little while, the whole of Varya—nay, the whole of Arthan, would know that the peace between the Wood Fay's and the Fiend had been broken.
There would be chaos, and it would be justified chaos. Probably a global recession based on Xaphi'rel's planet answer. They might choose to back away from economic deals, and the Emperor himself might ask for clarifications…they would be answers he had to give himself.
Virael was scared shitless about his father; if he had left Xaphi'rel for Arthan, the reason was one and only; he feared his father more than anything in the world. It was a fear he had slowly developed over the years, but…
He waved away his concerns when a Fiend dressed in white and Sourceanium suit to protect him from hazardous remains of Source usage finally left the tent they had set up around the site of the cicatrix and waved at him.
The Captain did not let his instincts of jumping down the balcony to reach him and have his answer right away win over him; that would be foolish and would show his impatience. Instead, he turned behind and took the stairs down, even if crossing the building and taking the road that led to the waterfall, the access to the Garden-Forest took him almost ten minutes.
As he passed, the waterfall parted; the remains of the Wendigo lay on the ground, its chest had been entirely erased from A'astor, the same could be said of the ground by the site of the cicatrix.
"So, what are your conclusions?" Virael asked the old Fiend.
Fiend
Level: 103
Varya's forensic team's head had been called to lead the squad that had to study the happening personally.
Yet the Fiend shook his head, "As expected, our results are not finite. Given the time of disappearance, the Trespasser could be anywhere in, roughly one thousand kilometers from the City. I hope the scrying team is already working on the remains of his blood because we are out of options. Sincerely, Captain," he said, not caring about showing his annoyance to the question, "I don't understand why we are even here; Trespassers cannot be tracked, I know it, you know it, they know it. So why even waste resources like this?" He said, making a circular motion.
"It comes from the higher-ups, Commander; it's not our place to judge," Virael said.
Internally he was asking himself why this plebeian even dared speak to him like that? If these people simply knew they should fear their betters as he did, they would not act in such a way.
Warden Xantus had been way too easy on them.
"Well, we are going back home; I'm planning on going fishing with my family, I don't know about you, Captain, but you look very tired. Maybe you should call it a day as well," suggested the forensic Commander.
Virael smiled at him, another show he had to put on for the masses, "Yeah, it would indeed do me good, Commander. Have a nice day then."
He turned away without waiting for the Commander's reply; Virael just wanted to be left alone at that moment. He needed for something to happen, anything. Whether he took Earth's Warden or recovered the Trespasser, he could not get back empty-handed.
He climbed all the way up to the Ancient villa's rooftop.
There were still fifteen hours to go before the Trespasser that had been contacted showed himself.
These freelance Trespassers did not show up right away; they had to consider their cooldowns; they would not show up before that because they had to give themselves a window of escape in case people contacted them simply to steal their Title. But rarely people did that, having a Trespasser as an enemy was the dumbest of the ideas, yet the occasional fool still tried it.
"Fifteen hours to go…" Virael told himself. There was no way he would go to sleep, but he would meditate; after all, every member of the Ancient's retinue had been apprehended and incarcerated, he would be alone in that beautiful garden, nobody would break him out of his meditation.
"Fifteen hours…" he repeated to himself as he closed his eyes.
"Fifteen…"
***
A hot haze, typical of a sauna, filled the bath. Its burgundy and ash-striped tiles were wet for the steam; the metal walls managed to keep the heat in, while at the same time keeping the environment fresh. It had been built so to rebut with the Fiends' hot body temperature.
The Fiendess standing in the tub jerked the tip of her one-meter long tail for the stress. Thin, dark blue and wrapped around her slim waist. The tail ended with a short tuft which was now wet just like the rest of her long hair that reached her butt.
Her reflection on the dark silver metal wall as the hot steam— too-hot for a human being—washed over her, she didn't like looking at it, the metal distorted her image.
Or maybe she had just been under that steam for too long.
Cyana's reflection cried; her face with her not-too-long recurved horns, short fangs, and a sinuous visage that defined her femininity was contorted into the most horrible form she knew. That of a despairing Fiend.
She hated feeling like that, feeling weak, defeated. She was not that; she had always been…happy. Even though her mother had never really shown to her the attention she showed to her brother, even though she had never met her father, even though the only member of her family who actually cared about her was the one which she should have hated for being too perfect at anything he did…she had been happy.
Cyana had been happy because her brother loved her enough to care about her, to show her the way, to be there whenever she needed it; he was her example of how a Fiend should be. She loved her brother, who had been not only a brother to her, but also a father, and her greatest, maybe only, friend.
And now he was no more…
Khrali was dead, and no one could come back from the dead; even Necromancers could not really bring back the dead, they only brought back a semblance of life, an empty shell, but the soul…that was lost forever. Her brother was dead, and she was alive.
She punched the walls, drawing blood from her knuckles; she would have gladly taken his place.
Still, Cyana knew it was time to get out of the bath when she heard the monitor turn on by itself from the hall. It had been programmed to do so to wake her up, for she used to fall asleep in the bath; it was her…peculiarity. She had always loved taking baths and would soak herself in steam or water for hours, days if it was up to her.
The TV set made a lot of noise, too much for her ears that had gotten used to the slow buzzing of vapor-valve.
"Lower TV sound," she ordered, there was no answer, but the sound became low enough not to break her mood.
Cyana turned the valve off. Then got out of the shower, sighing. She really did not want the week off that her reprisal had brought forth. If she could help it, she would throw herself into work, night and day. She only wanted to get home and cry after she discovered her brother's death; now, the only thing she wanted was to work, work, work, keep herself busy, try not to think about anything.
Five came to her mind, and she snorted, her tail whipping about, "Don't worry, it's just for show; they will not reprimand you," she mimicked his irking voice.
"I'm surely not going to come and thank you for having given my false hope…" she said to herself as she thought about his invitation.
Then she pressed the cold air spray, ideal after a long bath; it was placed right on the ceiling, in the middle of the bathroom, so she could look at herself in the clear mirror as she dried her long dark violet hair.
Cyana was almost perfect to Fiend's standards. Her breasts were slightly smaller than she would have liked, but her hips just fit the standard she had been looking for—she worked hard for that, after all, she was no rogue, and neither a Fighter, she was a Mage, shaping up perfectly as a Mage hadn't been easy.
Her neck was long enough, her legs too, her hooves not too thick, her horns and fangs big enough to adorn her face perfectly without resulting too obtrusively. If only it wasn't for the fact that her short yet thick dark blue body hair was interrupted by a few magenta patches, especially on top of her cheeks, she might have been considered as beautiful as her mother.
She sniggered; her mother was indeed the perfect woman any Fiend could ask for…maybe if she had been as beautiful and diligent, she might have stolen Virael's attention.
Although…thinking about Virael was confusing. She had known him for a long time, but those last few days, she had gotten to know a part of Captain Virael which she really didn't know.
"Stop thinking about stupid things…Khrali just died," she admonished herself.
Cyana took the robe waiting for her by the metal sliding door and covered herself in it. Yet the moment the metal-door opened up and the hall came into view, the sound of the TV set became loud once more.
The hall was bare as that of a lone person dedicating her mind and time only to work, of the bare furniture—made mostly to suit her needs—the most picturesque and eye-catching feature were the walls.
The walls of Cyana's flat, apart from the bathroom, were drawn as a clear sky. The Fiend had the technology to make walls made of panels that could change the images they displayed as if they were simple computer wallpapers; it was a piece of cake for them. But the sky pictured in Cyana's apartment was different; it was a sky that belonged to an old picture depicting her mother, her brother, and it was fifty Xaphi'relian years old. An image in which her mother had yet to have eyes only for her brother, an image that belonged to a period before the incident before she—
Her memory flew out of the metaphorical window when something from the flat TV set took her attention. No—taking her attention was not enough to describe it because her mind blew up when she heard the topic and the images being shown.
Cyana dropped with her knees on the floor, confused by the surreal piece of news.
"—Fay Sentry killed in cold blood yesterday and with him twelve soon-to-hatching eggs." The anchorfiend speaking showed his most surprised and disgusted face he could show on TV. "This horrendous declaration has been made by none other than a Defender from the Fay nearby breeding ground. The Fay in question, being an Eye, could directly produce an image taken from her memory of the accident. So this is not fake news, I repeat, not a piece of fake news. The responsible for this atrocity, which to this moment has not answered to any of our attempts to reach him, is none other than Captain Virael, Rejected and direct son of our Xaphi'rel's very Emperor—"
As the anchorfiend continued speaking, half of the screen showed Virael's front side, an image taken directly from his military ID. When the anchorfiend was placed on the background and the image produced by the Eye was recorded and sent back on the screen, the ethereal images of Virael, cutting down that Myst-caller they had met on the breeding ground, showed clearly enough for her to accept the accidents as the truth immediately.
Cyana did not think that the Myst-caller was hiding his Status; she did not think that he was guilty of helping his brother's murderer, no. The first thing that came to her mind was that the Virael she knew was not capable of something like that…but then, another part of her spoke to her the truth.
She had studied him, looked at him for years…she had no idea why, but she understood at that moment that Virael had always been capable of such an act and that she had never seen it. She had always known but never accepted it as such.
Realizing that she had constructed an image of a person just for the sake of following her long, juvenile love, her world shattered once again.