'Magic, power, life! It is a source of inspiration, and we have bastardized it. Technology, not just hardware and software, but under the guise of modern medicine. Tangible sources of mana have been corrupted from culture to prophet! Fairies are able, with pills, to donate dust like blood! An item once sought by mages more than gold is now as common as gum! The ease of overclocking magic will destroy us before it saves us'
Alvis had mindlessly listened to Professor Figmoore's lecture on mana history at Yggdrasil University. On the ride home from work last night, thinking nothing of it, but now the speech blurb races lap in his mind
watching the mighty stream of flame melt down the previous sentry charging at him; he was bothered by the visual signs of his extra power wain away,
the flame cooling back to natural dragon fire and the sentry making a few more steps than its fallen comrades made the elf, a rank S mage, feel something he had not felt in three hundred years: a yearning for more power.
' dispel'
As the last sentry lay on the blacktop, charred bone and melted steel.
Alvis dismissed his spell, watching the last sentry lay stuck on the blacktop, charred bone and melted steel.
The dragon's head glowed a bright blue before trans morphing back into a metal left arm covered in Nordic, Greek, and Egyptian symbols.
Seeing a mage use godly boons wasn't abnormal, but seeing boons this powerful from the fledgling Gods was more than just odd; it caused panic in most who have spent lifetimes dedicated to old greedy gods.
A slight shake in his left hand made him feel the weight of the boons. It was the wrong arm for today. A quiet exhale escaped the elf as he opened and closed the hand.
He took in his surroundings to make sure it was clear of anyone before he tackled the sphere of darkness before him, knowing the spell needed would leave serious collateral damage.
The last of the civilians trailed off; he was alone without worrying about anyone getting hurt by the mighty spell needed to crack the dome. But the dome struck a familiar dread in him that summoned his memories
Elves live for a long time, gathering lifetimes of information in the deepest parts of their brain with the mental discipline to mine those deep sections for needed information
The sphere he mined up is a direct Reality defense spell of the patron Atheris, who treads in darkness, yearning for the light. He had seen spheres not of the same size but the same realm in his heyday of mad warlocks and dark wizards that sacrificed lifeforce for power
Judging also by sentries having been enhanced to A-Rank, clearly by its magic as meant whoever this sphere belongs to must have sacrificed hundreds if not thousands of years too….
Alvis's heart raced out of a toxic cocktail of emotions, one that could childishly be compared to seeing a school crush after years of positive transformation but in the worst clothes in your wardrobe…along with a hint of murderous rage
"why are you here? Why start an international incident? Why give me a mountain of paperwork, old man? Why make me want to kill you more?" Alvis raved in public, unafraid of any prying ears, for most ignore elvian rants, no matter the subject, especially in downtown
The rant cooled down, realizing that despite his crap equipment load out, he could over-demonstrate the power of the new gods with a different, more powerful spell than the one he had prepared before
A mechanical click came from his arm, signaling a mechanism to pop up a straight row of mini slabs from under the forearm
the slab at the end of the forearm dropped down, then up again in front of the slab. It was just behind, repeating this till it reached the wrist, being the first slab, then with a satisfying mechanical click, it dropped down like a shell being loaded into a shogun.
Alvis clicked his tongue, peaking at a clock in a nearby store and checking the time to make sure his magic would be right when the spell locked in
'spell selected sword of the sun'
The symbols of the Egyptian pantheon began to glow a yellow that grew brighter and thicker till the light oozed out of the symbols into the elf's left palm, forming a magnificent long gold sword. Wielding it, he took a stance for a horizontal cut, speaking out with authority as he shouted a command
" By the blessing and boon of Ra! I, Alvis Winterson, command you, Khepri, to bestow me the morning sun!"
As the last word leaped from his lips, etchings of scarabs appeared on the blade's body. Once the etchings appeared finished, the sense of refreshment of waking in the morning washed over the elf, telling him his boon was ready.
With a heave and a grunt, Alvis took a swipe in the direction of the sphere. The blade cut against the wind, disintegrating into dust halfway through the swing. Though Alvis did not stop the motion or seem fazed as he watched the dust swarm behind him into an imitation of the morning rising sun
Beaming bright morning rays that dance, twisting together into the tip of a blade striking into the sphere, the darkness carving a hole in the giant wall of living darkness large enough for the elf
Who madly dash into it with only one objective: to destroy the sphere by killing the wizard it protects, relying on his skill and power alone
Excitement shot through him, a volt of fear as well. For the first time in a hundred and thirty years, the elf had felt the fear of the unknown, this feeling crowning the jeweled thought in his mind that with everything, he became soft… unprepared
But what was any adventure without twist or turn? Blood rushing surprise? A fated adventure is the best adventure