"You have done well, Mel." I praised him. "Unfortunately we can't act on your information right now. I will need a few days to recover."
I had to wait until my reserves of Od were somewhat restored.
Even if it didn't happen, the battle with the White Wizard still strained my Magic Circuits. That was the trouble with having such a potent Magic Crest, it could store about double the amount of Od than my Magical Circuits, but could not convert my vitality into magical energy.
I could resort to magical energy stored in jewels, but that would be unnecessarily wasteful. Even if I had found a way to fill some with the use of abundant magical energy present in the Otherworld.
Better to recover naturally. I was in a mostly safe space. I had enough food, although I was missing Archer's. His cooking really did spoil me.
In truth, perhaps it would be more prudent to wait even longer until I officially returned to Imladris. That would remove from any reasonable pool of suspects. But that would mean leaving Mel when I flew back to Imladris, and I was unwilling to leave him completely alone in Gondor.
And it would be better, for both the city and its ruler, to take the palantír in my custody as soon as practical.
I knew that Denetor was using the seeing stone to spy on the Dark Lord's forces, and thus the clash his will against an immortal tyrant aged the Steward, but I was surprised when I learned that he was only eighty. For the Man of lesser lineage, he would be considered well preserved, but for one who had pure blood of Dunedain, he was positively decrepit.
It was my hope that once I removed the item he was so misusing he may begin to recover.
And I also hoped that I could use it to recover some of the lost ones. Palantíri called to each other, and I did have Kraken to hunt one lost at sea.
"What happened? I followed the old man as you asked me to. As soon as he used the palantír, it looked just as you have described it, I returned to where I sensed you. But you were gone. And then when you came back to the room you couldn't see me."
He spoke quickly, one word running into the next. He was quite bouncy, which was somewhat distracting since he was still completely naked.
I should do something about it, even though he seemed comfortable with a nudist lifestyle. But the problem was that I had no idea how to produce clothing for Guardian Spirits.
"I think that what you sensed was the Endelómeríe." I gave a short explanation of the theory I had. I kept the circlet either on, or nearby even since he awakened, so it was quite probable that when he thought he was sensing me, he was actually sensing it. Since he was bound to it, and not directly to me. "And without it, I could not see you."
He crossed his arms over his chest, and said, "I thought that only you could see me."
Perhaps I didn't explain it that well, so I clarified, "No. Since your spirit is bound to the circlet, only one who wears it can see you. Your memories, have they still failed to return?"
He shook his head, and then added, "Just bits and pieces. One of the things I remembered was an older Elf teaching me how to work in the forge. I think he was my father. We made bars of shining black metal."
Interesting. We had several discussions about forging techniques, but he didn't mention that before. "Could you teach me? I mean once we return Imladris."
He nodded. "We will need a fallen star for it. I remember that much."
A meteor? I did have one, in my workshop back in Imladris.
"I have one. We will see if it is suitable. But to answer your previous question. I had an unlikely visitor in an unexpected locale. Remember that place where you would not go? Well, the White Wizard has managed to find one of the entrances."
He frowned. And then began pacing back and forth. "How? I don't understand. That place was in your home in Imladris. Except later it was not. And from last, I heard the Wizard was going to Bree."
It was hard to explain. Partly because my own knowledge about the Otherworld was still incomplete. I had spent time studying it, but the more I did that the more questions I got. But it seemed strangely connected to the little souvenir I picked in my brief sojourn to the Origin. It was like it was a training device for my particular True Magic. In a year I had advanced more since I first used the key than in the previous decade.
There was only one way to frame that explanation. Dramatically.
"That place lies not in the spaces you know, but in between them. I can open a gate to it at any threshold. I could enter here, and exit in Imladris. A journey of three hundred leagues, and yet through it would be as I am walking to the dining hall."
He stopped pacing, and quietly listened to my words. Afterward, he seemed mostly confused, and a bit awed.
"I don't know what to say to that. I still don't remember much, but that sounds…" He paused there for a moment, "Unusual?"
"To my knowledge, there is no place like it in the whole of Arda. And it's mine." The key was proof of that. And Cid did call me Primary User. "By my will paths to it open and close."
"And how did Saruman enter then?"
He was using the name Men used for the Wizard. I wondered why, since I mostly used the Elvish one, but not enough to ask. Instead, I answered his question.
"Because there is an anchor point, under Amon Sul. It is one gate I cannot fully close."
"Stange. I am curious about it, but I would not want to enter it. I have a very bad feeling about it."
"Very wise. I had some new evidence that entering it could harm those who are not bound to it. That was what probably happened to other Barrowwights. After capturing them, Fano dragged them through the Otherworld, from Tyrn Gorthad to Amon Sul."
"Other Barrowwights? What do you mean by other Barrowwights? What are Barrowwights?"
How much should I explain? I mean there was little purpose in going into detail, he would remember it eventually.
"Much of this you already know. You just need to remember it. But in short, a barrow-wight is a corpse possessed by a spirit. In all cases I have encountered, it was the spirit of an Elf." I paused for a moment. "But we wandered far from what I wanted to talk about. You will remember all of this in time. Do not force yourself. Now please tell me where the Palantír of Minas Anor, also called the Anor-stone, is kept?"
"Yes. I will remember it in my own time. Sometimes I want so much, but at other times I am so afraid," he said then he went to describe the path to the chamber high in The White Tower of Ecthelion, in which was the secret door to the room where the Anor-stone was kept.
From his description, the room was too guarded for me to approach it. Even invisible. Not the chamber itself. To keep the Anor-stone a secret, there were no guards in it. It was disguised as an archive of confidential documents, to which only Steward had access. But there was always a pair of Citadel Guards stationed right outside.
I had a few days, while I recovered, to think of a plan. In the end, I had decided to apply the method of getting into guarded spaces that I had used many times with Archer. It did need a Servant, but I believed that I could use Mel as a stand-in.
Naturally, I just couldn't hide in the rooms that were assigned to me. I continued my excursion in the city as before. Most of that time I spent in the Hall of Books.
No, I did not suddenly start reading books about famous heists, guides to making locks, or compendiums of the most common door-opening spells. The point of this was to act as I did before, to avoid suspicion. Not make myself an obvious suspect.
What I was looking for was Isildur's description of the One Ring. In books Minthradir had spent years on and off, looking for that document, so I did not expect to find it in a few days.
Whether it was just luck, or perhaps it was that I knew exactly what I was looking for, a testimony written by Isildur just after the victory of the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, I did manage to find it.
It was somewhat mislabeled, in that while it was correctly marked as writings of Isildur in the accurate time period, it just lacked any notation about the One Ring, and considering that it whole contest of it, I could why it was not easy to be found if one was looking for information on the One Ring.
I was surprised how it ended here. I thought that it would be in some private archive, like that chamber that his entrance to the room housing Anor-stone.
But then again there were no great state secrets in it. Just a detailed description and his Isildur's decree that the Ring was part of the royal inheritance Kingdom of Arnor. So by the law, Estel would be its legal owner, although since it was seized on the battlefield, and its previous owner was not dead, there could be some contention to the point.
Not that it really mattered. Sauron would not seek to regain it in court.
There was also that it was a three-thousand-year-old scroll. If I had studied golemancy a bit more I could have created something terrible with it.
I was just rereading it when I was interrupted, "I can not say that this sight surprises me. If one is to look for Rin, heading to the nearest collection of books is a good guess."
Distracted by what I was reading I said, "Did you know that the Ruling Ring was unique among Greater Rings of Power in that it lacked a gem?"
"Saruman did mention that once," the voice spoke in a friendly, amused tone. "I have been trying to find the root of that knowledge for some time now. Perhaps I should have asked for your help with it. But Elrond would never forgive me if I lost you in a library."
I looked up from the scroll I was reading. Mithrandir was sitting across the table from me. He looked as he always did. He had a long white beard and bushy eyebrows. He had put his tall pointed blue hat on the reading table. He wore his customary gray cloak and silver scarf. Fortunately, no fires were allowed in the Hall of Books, so his pipe remained unlit.
We were acquainted but I didn't know him as well as I should. For the whole of my life, he was just there. The frequent visitor to Imladris, but not one who stayed long. Wise, but his wisdom lay in areas I had little interest in. For while our acquaintance was quite brief I found Curumo much more to my taste. Even as an enemy.
"Mithrandir? When did you arrive?"
"Some time ago." His mouth twitched. "I could have waited until you noticed me on your own, but I didn't want to spend the rest of the day here."
"It's morning. I would have taken a break for lunch." I shrugged. "Unless I found something really interesting. Something like this scroll."I unrolled back to the beginning and pointed my finger to the relevant section. "Listen: The Great Ring shall go now to be an heirloom of the North Kingdom; but records of it shall be left in Gondor, where also dwell the heirs of Elendil, lest a time come when the memory of these great matters shall grow dim."
Ha slammed a hand on the table.
"Stop," he ordered, "Such matters are not to be spoken about in the open."
"Why? It is ancient history and of little relevance. The only thing of real interest was the description of the Ruling Ring."
He extended his hand to me and asked, "Can I have it?"
"Of course. I have read it all. I was just going over the second time in case I missed something." I rolled back the scroll and passed it to him. "There is also another thing I have for you. Well, you or Estel."
"Would that be a famous sword, by any chance? You have made quite a stir." His voice was gently chiding.
"It was not my intention to do so," I defended myself, "I planned to just quietly pass it to either you or its intended recipient. I have no idea how those rumors started. They are quite inconvenient."
"I suppose some things just cannot remain hidden." He sighed.
"Are you going to take it?"
"I suppose I must. I will see it delivered where it will be most needed."
I gave him the sword. After Steward assigned guards to me, I kept the sword with me at all times.
"Oh, there is also this," I said and took out a letter from Elrond. With all the trouble with the sword, I nearly forgot.
He took it. Immediately he broke the seal and began to read it. Soon he was frowning. His bushy rose so high that they seemed to want to jump off his head.
"Ill news. And strange. If only I was not so needed here…" He exhaled. He grabbed the pipe for a moment, then remembered where he was and put it back. "It was a kind thing you have done. Whether it was very wise or very foolish we will only know in the end. When do you leave?"
"I was just waiting for you. So tomorrow."
"I will write some letters for you to deliver. One for Elrond, and one for young Frodo. Is he still in Imladris?"
"As far as I know. Unless he left while I was here. But that would be unlikely. Elrond is not the one who would let his patients leave before they are healed."
Other young hobbits had left with Curumo, save Sam who stayed to keep Frodo company through treatment. There were cases before of Men who had got their hands on Lesser Rings. Most of them were servants of the enemy but not all. Elrond was trying to treat both Bilbo and Frodo for damage that possessing the Lesser Ring of Power could cause. Since they were in possession of the Ruling Ring it was unlikely to do much good, but it was not likely to do any harm.
Pippin and Merry had been sent back to the Shire as messengers, to do what they could, according to the fashion of their country, to warn the people of their danger. And pave the way for Curumo's task. Fatty went with them.
When he left to write those letters, and whatever else he had to do in this city, I turned towards my unseen companion.
"He is either a much better actor than I think he is, or he has failed to notice you, Mel." I threaded a hand through my hair. "We are out of time. We will act tonight."
Midnight found me on the shores of the underground river beneath the Amon Sul. The earthy scent of damp earth and moss pressed on me, with the weight of what I was about to do. Standing next to me were two corpses, a corpse of a Man and a corpse of a Troll.
The corpse of Man was almost Elf-tall, betraying his Numanorian heritage. It was swaddled in a black robe, with a blindfold covering the ruins of his eyes. The procedure I used to reanimate corpses repaired them to the perfect condition at the time of their death. Wounds and decay were undone. But it was a shallow Mystery, unable to restore the eyes of this particular corpse. There was a significance to the loss of the eyes that could not be undone so easily.
That corpse once was a Royal Seer of Arnor, tasked by the descendants of Elendil with using chief Palantir of the Northern Kingdom in service of his county, until he saw something that he could not have borne. By his own hand, he tore his eyes, and wrote a prophecy in his blood, before jumping to his death from the Tower of the Winds.
I counted that the authority of the stones had not been revoked with death. I was not the first to have that idea. After all, that particular corpse was previously possessed by Mel.
That corpse was also a source of instruction on how to use a Palantir. Even if the madness in his final hours had corrupted a lot of data.
The troll was merely a muscle.
By now Mel should be in the false archive. It was time to begin.
One of the common uses for the Command Seal was to bring Servant to Master in case of an emergency. It was a miracle bordering on True Magic, so I used True Magic to replicate it. Allowing me to perform Forced Summonings without wasting a Command Seal. After all, I had only three of them to last me ten wars.
Since Archer had stopped being a Servant, that spell had become completely useless. But now with Mel, I finally got to use it again. Mel was not a Servant but was close enough for it to work. With some modifications. A first step to generalizing it to work on any familiar or contractor.
"Recall," I incanted in English. I knew that German was more traditional for my family, but I found English more to my taste.
The space tore and in the next moment, Mel was next to me.
He blinked several times and shook his head. "Where? Where am I?"
"Under Amon Sul," I replied, and then asked the relevant question "Is anyone in the room?"
"No. How is this possible?"
"Then your part in this is done. Stay here. Learn about this place. I mean to give you command here."
"How? When only you can see me?"
"When I recover I will solve that problem," I said and then I put it out of my mind. I had to move to the next phase of the plan. The spell I had used created a trace, a wound in the fabric of reality. It would heal in time, but I also knew how to reopen it. It was a combination of spells that I often used in the past.
"Retrace," I invoked.
Once again space was torn apart, but this time it stayed that way. There was a gate to the place from which I had summoned him.
I walked through, accompanied by the corpse of the seer. The troll would come later.
I found myself in complete darkness. Elves needed little light to see, but there was none here. There was also the smell of dust and old paper. With a simple gesture, I brought forth the light.
Creating light was one of the basic spells. My soul, like all souls, was luminous. It was a matter of making light shed by it a physical.
That light revealed a small, square room. Smaller than I expected from Mel's description. There was not much in it, a single table, completely clear, a simple wooden chair next to it. The walls on the other hand were completely covered with shelves filled with scrolls.
First I needed to isolate this space before I began to work. For what I was about to do, it was convenient that the room's walls, as was common with Numonorian structures, were aligned to compass points.
I shifted Larmo into device configuration and began drawing magical energy from gems embedded in it in the correct order.
The primary purpose of each of the five elemental modules was to serve as a filter for one of the Great Elements, but that also meant that magical energy that passed through would be attuned to the element the gem represented. In that way, I could use it to cast a number of jewel-based spells, and what was even better the magical energy I drew from the would refill from the Otherworld.
Of course, that was much less efficient than using them for their primary purpose.
Drawing magical energy collared by the Fire Module, I set the first circle at the south side of the room, just a little above the door outside.
Then moving counterclockwise, I used magical energy from the Water module to mark the west side, then North with air, and east with earth, then finished by standing in the center and linking them together with magical energy drawn from the Ether module.
Fire. Water. Air. Earth. Yod. He. Vau. He. YHVH. By invocation of the Tetragrammaton, I assumed authority over this space, setting up a Bounded Field.
I usually just used ruby to consecrate space, but I needed something a bit stronger here. And I lacked a ruby. Fire-Opal was a better fit for the Fire Module.
First I isolated the sound, then smell, and last with a touch of the last gem, cut the flow of ether, blocking the emanation of magical energy.
Then I widened the gate, and gave an order, "Cid, use the troll to block the entrance, I do not want to be disturbed."
The troll barely fit in the small room. It was a good thing I blocked sound from exiting the room, otherwise, his crashing would have brought the guards. Smell too.
In the end, it somehow managed to put his back to the door, occupying almost the whole wall.
Mel had described where the secret door was, so it was hard to find behind the rotating shelf.
Now, I just needed to open it.
The door was made of metal, but I could find a keyhole in it. It was decorated in abstract shapes.
Structural analysis showed that the door was over three millennia old. I was almost tempted to steal it too. I could not see the insides of it by that spell. There was interference. Metal was an unknown alloy. It contained iron, carbon, sulfur, silver, mithril, and several other things I could not identify.
Enchantments on the other hand like shadows. I knew that they were there but not what they were.
It must have been part of the original tower since it had been rebuilt two hundred years ago.
Unfortunately, that meant it was made by the craft lost to current Gondorians.
The trouble was that I was not much of a burglar, and if any of my Tohsaka ancestors were skilled in theft they had failed to include such spells in my Magic Crest.
It was time to use Larmo as it was meant to be used.
The door had a presence in both Seen and Unseen, and the enchantments were where the realms touched.
The Larmo mapped them all.
First was the passive mode. Just listening. Absorbing the doors unique Song, passing through five filters, and then reuniting in the processor. There the gathered data would be further run through algorithms for signal noise removal, and then data used to create a proper model of the object.
Once I had basic measurements, the next step was to see how the door reacted to the stimulus.
I tried the simplest Word of Opening I knew. It was unlikely to work, but I could measure how the door reacted.
Next, I tried structural grasping again and recorded what blocked it.
Then I created a contained fire using magecraft. Something like a blowtorch. Although the exact alloy the door was made was unknown to me, it was similar to that used in the production of Elven swords, so I set the heat of the flame a little above the expected melting point.
I failed to manage to melt the door, but I did record the result.
Next, I tried to use my slime familiar to melt through the door. And when that failed, I tried the same on the stone wall on which the door was.
When that too failed I recorded the results. At least the door looked much better since at least my slime had managed to devour the aged patina.
Then I sat down and began a slow process of analyzing the data I had acquired. On one hand, if I wanted to create a very secure door, I had a good start. On the other, finding a weakness to open this would take some work.
The door was composed of several distinct parts with each having an enchantment of its own. It differs in engineering philosophy from Elven works. There the whole would be bound in Name with enchantment branching from it.
As I expected, and have confirmed now, direct use of magecraft would not work. The door was too old, and the enchantments were too carefully layered. Magecraft was versatile but impotent against something with such ontological inertia.
Brute force would take a prohibitive amount of time. If it was even possible.
But there was a weakness in how it was made. I just needed to find a weak point, a place where I could drive a wedge and unravel the whole thing.
And I needed to find a proper wedge.
"Master," Cid interrupted me, speaking from the corpse of the seer, "the troll is being attacked. Its back is cut."
Just what I needed. Out of time. I wondered why I didn't hear anything, but then I remembered. I blocked all sounds. That cut both ways. Those who were outside of Bounded Field couldn't hear any from within Bounded Field. But also I could not hear anything from outside.
Wait.
The door was untouched, but I could feel the weakness of where it was mounted on the wall. The walls were much more recent. And enchantment on the wall was much less complex, and not as integrated as other parts.
But how do I use that?
And quickly too, because that troll was not going to last that long.
I could give up. This was not a critical mission. Archer was doing that one.
But it would be a waste, and I would prefer to have Steward of Gondor not influenced by the Dark Lord.
A memory intruded. A memory of words. Words to shatter metal and rend stone. Words that Witch King used to shatter Larmo.
If he had used that abominable spell on any other sword, its secret could have remained hidden.
But Larmo meant listener, and its other form, at the time, was a device that sought other worlds, attuned to the frequency of Unseen.
In that way, I learned forsaken Words to break metal and shatter stone.
But to speak them was to open myself to forces of Discord.
Either I would abandon this, and leave the Steward of Gondor to nonexistent mercy of the Dark Lord, or take a firm step on the road to damnation.
The prudent thing would be just to reopen the gate to caves under Amus Sul and leave.
In the end, I wasn't quite certain whether it was compassion or greed that made me stay.
So I spoke the Words. They tore from my throat like a flood of sharp razors. I put my hand to my mouth and was surprised when there was no blood.
But they worked. The stone where the door met the wall burst into fine dust, and the door, still untouched, fell with a loud clang in the chamber behind it.
"Get stone," I gave the order and then turned reading to reopen the path back. "How long until they breach the room?"
While I waited for the seer's corpse to retrieve what I came for, I moved my slime under the door and prepared to move it.
"They have stopped cutting," the corpse of the troll spoke, in a deep rumbling voice.
"What!?" In the end, I didn't need to rush it! But why did they stop trying to get in? "No matter. Are we done?"
"We are done," the corpse of the seer said. Its voice came from near the right. I turned my head towards it and saw that the blindfolded corpse had a large black sphere in its hands.
I nodded, then opened the gate. "We go first, then the troll."
The troll corpse doll came without incident. No one was pursuing it.
I closed the gate, and ordered Cid, "Place Anor-stone in storage." Then I turned to Mel, and said, "I must go back to Minas Tirith now before I am missed. Stay here. I will be back when I return to Imladris. Then I will fulfill my promise."
A short walk through the Otherworld, and I was back in the room assigned to me in the White Tower.
I put down my sword and began to prepare for bed. It would be best if I stayed here in this room until morning.
I had just folded my tunic when a thunderous bang erupted as the door to the hallway was violently flung open, its heavy frame slamming against the wall with a resonant crash that echoed through the chamber.
Someone charged me. Fast, but not fast enough. In dim starlight, I could see a half-naked woman running towards me, with her hand extended.
Her movements were swift but lacking the supernatural speed of an Elf. And completely unskilled and ungraceful, drawn by some manic energy she closed the distance to me in a few seconds. The front of her dress was completely torn, showing her naked breasts, and the rest of it tattered behind her like wings of a strange bird.
When she reached me, I grabbed her arms, trying to subdue her. She twisted, uncaring of the pain and damage until he was right next to me.
"Pretty Elf," she muttered, pressing and rubbing onto me. She was naked under her belt too. She smelled of sex.
But now that she was close, I could feel a very familiar magical energy. The Spider's Kiss Curse. It felt almost like it.
But that curse was supposed to render its victims helpless, rather than aggressive.
No matter. I should attempt to harvest. There was some risk of failure, depending on how different it was from the original. But I was quite confident that I could do it.
Besides, I was curious. And leaving the poor woman under such a curse seemed untidy.
The slime moved over hands to hers, and then over her body. Crawling over her breasts, tendrils crawling over her nipples. Then it moved downwards. Flowing over the stomach, down to her womanhood, and then plunged right in.
Through it, I could taste her juices and something else. Cum. Both were tainted by the taste of Spider's Kiss.
Then the curse tried to infect my slime. Which was something that should not have happened.
Spider's Kiss was initially carried in the body, preferably sexual, fluids, but once the curse got to the victim it moved to a purely spiritual level. It could spread only through the transfer of magical energy, like karmic bonds between magus and familiar, although skilled enough magus could cut the bonds before getting it.
It was so by design, otherwise harvesting it would be too inefficient.
The attempt didn't work, naturally. The slime familiar was specifically designed for safe sex. And if it worked it would not have mattered. To successfully consume the curse I needed to be immune to it. That immunity I gained through Mithridatism, the ritual practice of protecting oneself against a poison by gradually self-administering non-lethal amounts. So I knew exactly what she was going through.
Doing it with something so addictive was dangerous, but that was true for all magecraft.
She writhed in my arms, rubbing all over me. Her breast pressed into my still-clothed chest. But she was ridden by that curse for too long. She was close to the edge. and it didn't take it long for my clime fucking her to drive her over it.
With a final shudder, she orgasmed and I harvested the curse.
Looking within I examined the tangled ball of magical energy, spells, and life force.
The curse was as I knew it, and yet there were significant differences.
While I began to metabolize my harvest I reviewed data on Spider's Kiss curse that was stored in my Magic Crest.
The primary concept on which it was based was "taking power through sex". It was an ancient concept even mentioned in Papyrus Chester Beatty I. In those texts, there was a story "The Contendings of Horus and Seth", which deals with the battles between Horus and Seth to see who will be the successor to the throne of Osiris. There Set raped his nephew to prove that he was a more worthy king, but through deception, by pouring Horus' seed on lettuce Sat ate, the reverse was proven true.
Spider's Kiss curse was actually two spells. One to render the victim helpless and pliable and the other to steal the power from the victim.
The first spell was based on the concept of spider venom.
Spider venoms were a cocktail of many chemicals.
Some were neurotoxins, which evolved to kill or immobilize arthropods like insects by attacking their nervous systems; others were cytotoxins which help break down the tissue so the spider can ingest a liquefied meal.
Parts of the spell that was an analog to neurotoxins caused both paralytic and aphrodisiac effects. It affected the body, mind, and soul. On the material level, it caused paralysis of voluntary muscles, while creating physical symptoms of arousal, increased blood pressure, heart rate, breathing, and temperature In female victims her nipples, labia, and clitoris would fill with blood and become more sensitive. Male victims would gain almost painful erection, and in many cases also increase the sensitivity of nipples. On a mental level, it lowered the victim's inhibitions and bombarded the victim's mind with sexual thoughts, making it hard to concentrate. On a spiritual level, it would make victims blind to greater truths, hiding them behind the veil of forbidden sexuality. Whatever the victim abhors and secretly desires here he or she or it would need to face before accessing his or hers or its spiritual powers.
True damage that curse had was due to parts of the spell that were analog to cytotoxins. In the body of the victim, it increased the metabolism to unsafe levels, having the body of the victim devour itself to produce energy. The spiritual effect was an increase, or even activation of spiritual organs, like for example magical circuits, that converted that energy to Od, which was then used to produce more of the curse. Od was also forced to circulate, making the curse spread and entangled with the victim. The mental effect was most insidious because it fostered addiction.
The second spell was a variation of the sexual mana transfer ritual. There were many such spells but this one was based on the principle that "that which is not fertile on the material plane is fertile on astral". Thus creative energy that would produce children instead created magical energy. By pouring life on barren soil, the subtle harvest was collected.
The harvest spell was also the only way the victim was supposed to be able to achieve orgasm while under the effects of the first part.
I had recovered more magical energy than I expected, so I checked the now unconscious woman. No magical circuits. Good, that would be an unpleasant surprise.
Her body was ravaged by the curse, but not as much as I had feared. In time she should recover without any permanent consequences.
Which did bring one thing to question?
Where did extra energy come from?
Could it be that those of Numanorian descent, even if faint, produced more magical energy under the curse than expected from humans, maybe even more than a trained magus? And with less severe side effects.
But enough distractions. I had to face unpleasant facts. This, whatever it was, was too similar to the curse my ancestors carefully designed. It was almost certain that I was the origin.
So two theories came to my mind. Either way, it seemed to be my fault.
The first and less likely one was that a sample of the curse had been stolen from me. I had used it in defense of Anchor Gate. Someone could have taken a sample and modified it. The main candidates for that would be either Curumo or the Witch-King. But that seemed unlikely, for both the distance and I didn't think that they could have done this. They lacked even basic theories of magecraft.
But more likely it was a direct consequence of my actions. I had brought a source of the curse here to the White Tower. Blood within the animated corpse of the troll.
But how did she get infected?
Was she near it when they spilled its blood?
There was something I had forgotten. A missing link.
Well, I could assume that she was not the only victim, either way. Which meant that I should go out and seek more of them.
It was my mess. It would be proper for me to clean it up.
Finding the victims would not be hard. Spider's Kiss had a distinct energy signature, and I had Larmo.
I stepped into the hallway. There was no artificial illumination, night was bright enough to see by. Even for Man.
At least I didn't have to worry about Ascarnil. Although he was given a smaller room near mine, he preferred to sleep with the glider. That was a bit rude, but then he was a scout and not a diplomat. I could guess that was why Elrond had little objection to me accompanying him here.
The nearest source was towards the exit which was concerning. I didn't want to have to chase cursed ones all over the city.
I heard a thumping noise and soon saw the target.
The next victim was either trying to force open the closed door or fuck it.
I saw that he was male because while he was dressed in parts of a uniform of Citadel Guards, a black surcoat, embroidered in white with a tree in blossom under a silver crown and many-pointed stars, his leggings were missing and under the belt, the tails of surcoat were parted showing his bare legs and hard cock. His boots were also gone leaving his feet bare.
He was still to notice me. Which was no surprise. My steps were silent and I carried no illumination. And he was busy doing whatever he was doing with that door.
He was clawing on it, then he would hit it with his fist. And from time to time he would thrust his hips, pushing his manhood in it. It looked rather painful, but I was used to masochists.
I set my slime at him, and it crawled up to his legs to his penis and anus and then stimulated him until he orgasmed. Then I harvested the curse.
Quick and easy. Just how I preferred it to go.
His semen was infected with a curse. That was what I had forgotten. A similar thing happened to the female victim. In her case, there was both infected semen that did not belong to her, and her own juices were infected.
With two samples I could form a preliminary theory. In some way, Spider Kiss had mutated, or been modified. So after it was active in the body of the victim, it would produce an inactive form in sexual fluids. From samples I had, both female and male.
I had slime crawl into the victim's mouth and taste his saliva. There was no curse in it. Then I made a small cut and did the same with blood. Same result. So either it did not infest all body fluids or harvesting the curse removed it.
Unfortunately, for all the demented experiments, my ancestors performed, and I really didn't need to know how Spider's Kiss worked on infants (they produced a lot of energy per count and quality of their magical circuits, but needed special care not to die too soon) or plants (on ordinary plants it was a quick way to terminate them, but harvest gained less magical energy then invested) no one had tried harvest curse before it was introduced to a victim.
I would need to perform the same tests before I removed the curse from the subject. That would not be a problem. I was not lacking in potential research subjects.
Then I would need to do the same experiment on an unaltered sample of inactive Spider's Kiss. But that could wait until much later.
But one question lingered in my mind, stubborn and unresolved. How had this affliction managed to spread so far and wide? The victims, from my observations, neither possessed formidable strength nor displayed any cunning – in fact, they seemed quite bereft of sense. This puzzled me further; the citadel guards, well-trained and vigilant, should have easily subdued such hapless beings, even if they held reservations about lethal force
I checked on him, and he would also recover. Either this variant of the curse was less damaging or humans in this World were much more resilient. Or both.
Dealing with the next few victims proved relatively straightforward. Most wandered aimlessly through the halls, save for one lurking in a room. Those who noticed me charged, their movements predictably frantic, but they posed little challenge to me.
With more subjects to observe, I corrected a crucial mistake. If cursed ones were not caught by surprise they possessed an unnatural speed and strength, almost as if they were capable of rudimentary reinforcement by instinct.
I also confirmed two more observations. One there was an inactive version of the curse in the body fluids of the victims and second the harvesting process removed it.
There was also a new discovery. Or rather now that I had more samples I finally managed to notice it. There was a reading that I encountered only in one other item, the Bone Tree.
Once I detected that it was trivial to notice that each curse cast shadows across ephemeral potential realities. And as one was destroyed it would restore itself from the shadow. That could explain both increased energy output and difficulty in the metabolizing process. I would need to run numbers later, after the crisis resolved to be sure, but it did point to new and interesting applications of my True Magic.
So far, there had been no fatalities or even serious injuries – a fortunate outcome, albeit one I suspected wouldn't last. This lull, I knew, was only temporary, a deceptive calm before an inevitable storm. But those worries were for later. For now, what weighed on my mind was the unseen, yet potentially more insidious toll: the psychological damage.
There were reasons I preferred to use that spell only on enemies.
Next, I arrived at an interesting scene.
Usually, the victims of the curse were solitary, mindlessly roaming and only charging when they detected me.
This time there was a group of them
They were all completely naked, a pile of writhing bodies.
I counted five, three males and two females, and they seemed to be engaged in group sex. I could smell the musk, and hear their moaning.
That seemed easy.
I sent the slime for a quick harvest, but then suddenly they stopped moving, all turned their heads towards me. In two cases that looked very unnatural. Their eyes were so dilated that they were almost all pupils.
They separated far too quickly, twisting in what seemed quite unnatural ways, they untangled and charged me. Now I could see that they were all naked, and in low light, they really looked the same.
By the time five were near enough to grab me, the fifth was harvested.
I dodged their grasping hands. It would be much easier if I wasn't trying to keep them unharmed as practical.
I slipped under one pair of arms, and dogged two others, but I had to grab the fourth and throw the last victim.
If they ganged on me, well I would have to take more desperate measures. I needed to divide them until slime finished them one by one.
I received another dose of the curse. Fourth done.
I hastily retreated towards the slime, while tripping the only remaining female, and then pushing one of the males over her.
I jumped back, the one victim still on his feet followed and stepped on the slime. It crawled fast up his legs, small tendrils twisting around his manhood.
The third dose of the curse burned. That was a little too much at once. If it was the original it wouldn't be a problem, but this mutated version was a bit harder to digest.
I was feverish and I still had two more to take. I pushed excess magical energy into the onyx on my circlet. It would be a shock to Mel when he suddenly materialized, but I needed to get rid of excess energy right now.
The one in front of me fell like a puppet with its string cut, but the other two were getting on their feet.
I set a slime on the female. For the male, there was an experiment I had to try. Using standard methods was just too slow, I needed to try to harvest without inducing an orgasm
As they rushed towards me, I countercharged. A fast strike to the female's throat had her fall, gasping for air. Then I grabbed the male victim's hand and pulled him while tripping him. Once he was on the ground I sat on his back and began the process.
It was much harder. Like trying to pull out a well-rooted weed. More violent and more expensive in terms of magical energy. The curse itself had been hard to assimilate, like eating unripe fruit. But it worked.
And when I was finished I tested the victim. The result was the same, all of the curses were successfully removed.
Hunting them one by one, was too slow. I needed to turn the harvest spell to an area effect, rather than a single target.
That was actually easy to do. I just need to set a Bounded Field, and cast the spell through it.
The first step was choosing the basic formula for Bounded Field, then applying the spell formula using references to create a working sigil.
For the foundation, I had chosen Calvary Cross with ten fields. In the same Thaumaturgical Foundation as Spider's Kiss, the geomantic shape it aligned was Carcer, a "prison", and that was aligned with Saturn at night, and thus harvest. Since it was night time it would be more potent.
Five of those ten fields were reserved for descriptions of the harvest spell.
Four were reserved for targeting data, the Citadel, and all living things in it. As well as exceptions, only me and my familiars.
The last field, on the top of the cross, was the receptacle. It could have used me, but that would be beyond reckless, so I set it to my slime familiar.
I converted that to appropriate symbols and filled in the cross.
The next part was putting the sigil in as many places as possible in the shortest amount of time.
For that reason I scattered the slime, keeping only the minimum required to run the core. The miniature slimes moved to inscribe the cross in as many places as possible, while the core, now severely weakened, moved towards both the geographical and spiritual center of the citadel, the throne room.
Core slime was now severely weakened and I need to keep it safe. Escort mission. I hated escort missions.
I had encountered five more cursed victims on the way to the throne room. With slime being so weak, I had to harvest them without inducing an orgasm.
Being an Elf I could not risk it. Since I already had a mate, my body could register any sex with someone not him as rape and that was always fatal for an Elf.
The throne room lay desolate, its grandeur echoing the silence of a conclusion long awaited.
This was it—everything would finally be resolved.
By now, the mini slimes should have positioned sufficient sigils for the Bounded Field's activation. Taking a deep breath, I began the incantation, my voice steady yet resonant in the hollow expanse.
"I invoke the principle of lead, a sickle of harvest and usurpation."
I could feel them, numerous sigils glittering like stars in my mindscape, as they fed on me. I could feel an unseen barrier rise.
"I invoke the principle of gold, an unsoiled cup that holds myriad venoms."
The sigil lit under the core slime.
"Let the led give to the gold, malediction upon malediction "
The curses flew through the air, barely visible as red sparks, and one by one gathered into the core slime. Until its presence was like a malevolent sun right next to me.
Now, the final act was upon me: to take, to consume.
Suddenly, I lost connection to all the slimes.
Bounded Field was still up, but curses had stopped coming.
The slime began to bubble quite ominously. It also seemed to grow. It had already regained the mass it lost from scattering but then continued to expand.
I reached to harvest all of the curses from it. Unwilling to touch it with bare hands, I charged Larmo with a harvest spell.
As I cautiously approached, the slime creature preempted my move. It erupted in a frenzy of lashing tentacles, expanding in all directions with alarming speed.
Instinctively, I leaped back, narrowly evading a tentacle that lunged with unnerving precision. With a swift, defensive motion, I sliced through the nearest appendage, feeling its grotesque resistance against Larmo's enchanted blade.
As I severed a tentacle, red sparks flew from the incision, arcing back to the main body. The severed part dissolved, leaving a sizzling trace on the pristine floor. The remaining tentacles thrashed wildly, their erratic movements gouging scars into the stone.
Another tentacle swooped towards me, forcing me into a dance of dodges and parries. I ducked under one particularly aggressive limb, only to collide with a chair at the foot of the throne. The chair disintegrated upon contact, its material no match for the cursed onslaught.
Nasty, I thought, eyeing the melting remnants.
The sheer concentration of curses in the slime was staggering. A realization dawned on me: I was fortunate not to have absorbed all the curses at once. The decision to use the slime as a vessel, despite the current chaos, was proving to be a wise one. Had I been the direct recipient, the consequences would have been dire.
Each slash of my sword absorbed a fraction of the curses, visible only as fleeting sparks. I had to maintain a delicate balance, neutralizing each portion before daring to extract more.
Despite my efforts, the number of tentacles seemed undiminished, each cut being replaced by another writhing limb. The slime had become a mutating mass of curses, impervious to anything but the harvest spell. Any other approach would be inefficient, if not entirely futile.
It was clear that I was locked in a battle of attrition, one where pacing and precision would be key to survival
The tentacles were quick, darting through the air with a lethal unpredictability. It was unclear whether they were deliberately targeting me or simply lashing out in blind fury.
Each time I cut through one, a frenzy of tentacles would converge on the spot, as if drawn to the disturbance. I quickly adapted to this pattern, slicing through a tentacle and then leaping back before the others could strike. In those brief moments of respite, as I dodged their blind assaults, I focused on absorbing the curse, channeling the excess magical energy into Endelómeríe. Then, with precise timing, I would strike again.
I lost track of time in the rhythm of battle. Minutes or perhaps longer passed in a blur of movement and concentration, but it was certainly less than an hour.
Eventually, the onslaught ceased. The tentacles withdrew, coalescing into a new form. Before me stood a black, man-sized egg, pulsating with a foreboding energy. I approached with caution, my senses alert. Despite all my efforts, I could feel the immense power still contained within. I hadn't drained even a fraction of it.
The egg pulsed once, then twice.
Picking up a small shard of broken marble, I cautiously lobbed it towards the egg. It was absorbed instantly, merging into the egg's surface without a trace.
Glancing down, I noticed the primary sigil had vanished, yet the presence of the Bounded Field lingered in the air, an unseen but palpable force.
The egg began to crack, the fissures spreading like lightning. A reptilian head, crowned with a ridge of sharp scales, forced its way through the opening. It was followed by two powerful claws, scraping against the remnants of the shell. Then, with a sinuous motion, a dragon-like creature emerged, its gaze fixating on me with eight black, spider-like eyes. Where I expected wings, there instead writhed a cluster of squid tentacles, undulating with a life of their own. It emitted a high-pitched, chirping sound, eerily reminiscent of a bat's cry. Only then did I notice its ears, flat against its scaled head, devoid of fur but covered in the same glistening scales.
I was still absorbing these bizarre details when the creature lunged at me, tentacles leading its charge. I narrowly dodged, feeling the whoosh of air as I tilted my head. A jolt of adrenaline shot through me; this was no longer a mere task to be completed. It was a battle, fraught with real danger. Until now, I had treated this as a chore, perilous only if I lost focus. But this creature, this amalgamation of curses, demanded a more serious approach.
I apprised two tentacles, making shallow cuts on them. There was less of the curse in them. It seems that it was drawn deeper into the new body of, well it was no longer slime. It was now some sort of draconic amalgamation. Drake would do for a name for now.
I would have been impressed by the work if I had done it on purpose.
Drake drew back tentacles when I cut them. So it could feel pain in this form. Useful to know.
In a sudden move, it lunged to bite me. Seizing the opportunity, I executed a swift maneuver. With a blend of skill and impeccable timing, I thrust Larmo through one of its spider-like eyes, penetrating its brain.
This more complex anatomy had its vulnerabilities.
But still, the amount of curse energy I had taken was not that much. And I could still feel it in Drake's body.
Then, in a blinding flash of red light, I was thrown back, Larmo ripped from the creature's skull.
As the light faded, Drake was no longer motionless. It moved, it breathed; it was not a corpse but a living entity once again.
Could it be a Curse of Resurrection?
Not quite. I could see the difference in Drake. The new version had reptilian eyes, and its mouth was covered by mandibles.
I recognized that. To be sure I checked. And I was right.
With the application of the Second, a tree became a forest. And then a single monster became a horde. Yet, like an iceberg, only a small part was visible. One could interact with reality at the time. Others remained just a potential.
With the new version of the curse, there was an indication that property was transferable, but incarnation was so much more.
That was an interesting trick. Once I master it, and I would, it would have so many potential applications.
I never could understand the Philosophers, those Sealing Designates that found value in becoming menaces that abandoned all codes of conduct to continue their research without being bothered. But now, with this little accident, I could see some appeal.
My thoughts were abruptly interrupted as Drake's mandibles snapped dangerously close, venom spraying across the already ruined floor.
Should I transform?
It was fast and strong. But not skilled. And not much faster than me. Not enough to matter. That answer was no, for now. I should keep that in reserve.
I ran past the Drake, making a long cut on its flank. Distracted by absorbing a larger portion of the curse, the tail nearly hit me, so I had to slide under it.
From the corner of my eyes, I could see red sparks rise from the small puddle of venom, and be drawn into the drake. Bounded Field was still operational.
Drake was more cautious now. Unwilling to get new to me. It tried to use a longer reach of tentacles to hit me from a greater distance.
I weaved between the tentacles, cutting them when I could. The parts I cut were replaced, as soon I looked elsewhere, but always with something different. A web spinner, a stinger, one opened like a flower with teeth. And many more. But with each replacement, I could feel its energy go down. And each time it came in contact with my sword, I took some of its energy.
The floor should be sleek with its blood, except both the blood and body parts I had cut disappeared as soon as I looked elsewhere.
It was a battle of attrition, and I was winning. Slowly, but surely.
And then it finally happened. When it was least useful.
The reinforcements have arrived. The company of Citadel Guards was an impressive sight, marching in their black robes and black surcoats, with their helmets ornamented with the white wings of sea-birds.
Yet, in this fight, they were nothing more than a distraction. Their weapons could, theoretically, hurt and even kill the drake. But it would take quite a lot of killing to exhaust the energy that Bounded Field had gathered.
Still, they could make it much easier for me to kill it. I just had to use them and use them hard. They were more expandable than me, from a tactical point of view. My sword inflicted quite a substantial amount of damage, by the nature of the harvest spell.
The drake turned towards easier targets.
The logical thing was to let it attack them, and slowly drain it of curses. There would be causalities, but it was their duty to die defending the Citadel.
Shirou, either version of him, was such a bad influence on me.
With reinforced legs, I surged forward, moving with a speed that blurred my form. Leaping onto the drake's tail, I vaulted onto its back in a fluid motion. A swift, circular sweep of my sword severed the writhing tentacles at their base.
Then, I made a choice that bordered on recklessness.
I had long since identified the epicenter of the curse within the drake's body – a concentrated point where the energies converged. In a daring move, I plunged my Elven blade into that very spot.
That was stupid. There was a reason I didn't end this battle as soon as I determined the weak spot.
Because now I would take the curse all at once. An idiocy that was worthy of a hero enthusiast.
To save some, I risked it all. If the curses overwhelm me, there would be no way to stop it. The whole citadel could potentially be lost.
Act reckless and hope for the best. A behavior I deplore.
If those men knew that I risked the city to save them, they would not be grateful. And they would be right.
The curses flowed through the sword to me. But they were slow, almost as they were resisting.
An orb of twisted energy rushed through the sword into me. It was some kind of pseudo Magical Core. A Curse Core?
Then it hit and I knew nothing more than fire and darkness.