In the much too opulent room, gold leaf trimd every piece of furniture, accompanied by a mana lavender scent.
The Reaver closed the door behind him, mana lines reinforced the entire room, out onto the small balcony. He pushed out so mist, using it as feelers as he'd done in the past. From the feedback, the construction material was made of so soundproofing and ether inhibitors. A determined and powerful person could pierce past it, but it would do well enough for temporary use.
Luke doubted he'd return here anyway. The bedding sure did look comfortable though. Alas, no rest for the weary. Or greedy? He set the three artifacts on the bed, washed off at the bathroom, and changed back into his full combat gear once finished. To be safe, Luke used his rudintary understanding of aura to further seal off the room. Thankfully, the elental power he inherited from higher mastery of Elentalization and becoming an elental human pushed its effects far beyond what a tier 1 could normally accomplish.
Xera asked, none too pleased, "What's with all the secrecy? Are we starting a blood cult? Can I be the head priest? That's the best position, right?"
"Wasn't it a church?" Luke asked, jokingly.
"Ah! How could I have forgotten? That was our deal, are we going to set out the core tenets in advance?"
"Sure, the first is to uproot anything standing in the way."
Pushing that aside, Luke let Xera have her fun, although Wayfinder apparently got involved, arguing over the semantics just for kicks. Whispering To floated between the two talkative nincompoops. Sooty settled on the balcony outside, like she already knew what was about to happen. Smart bird.
Getting the obvious move out of the way, Luke took out the spatial bag that contained the Withering Echo skill book. After binding the small spatial bag to his Inventory to expand it, he pulled up Withering Echo for review a final ti.
[Skill Book: Withering Echo - Passive]
Quality: Exceptional
When over 20 Essence is spent within a three second period, a Withering Pulse releases, lowering attack power by a minor amount for three seconds on affected enemies. Has an internal cooldown of nine seconds.
Requirents: Essence-based class
"A little vague, the slis aren't the type to attack either, so testing on them might not work out. Whatever, best ti to learn is from the real thing."
The book turned into ether motes, and a greenish-black-bordered Interface notice popped up in his mind's eye.
[Confirm Withering Echo as second permanent class passive ability Y/N? Warning: This action is irreversible]
Luke resolutely agreed, no way in hell was he going to spend that amount of gold, go into debt, then not use the damn thing. The motes entered him, and after a short settling period, another 'presence' rooted inside his taphysical class soul, feeling fuller than before, with enough space left for one more presence like the new one.
Since it was a passive ability, other than spending essence, he couldn't call upon Withering Echo by will. Although, Elentalization was a resource technique. And his resource was essence, so wouldn't it activate once he cycled through twenty essence, basically on cooldown? Granted, if nothing in the vicinity was considered an enemy, it may just remain inert.
Going with the flow, Luke steadily let out so essence through wastefully using Elentalization on the moisture in the air, then repeating the process. Between natural regeneration, armor effects, and since this happened to be a testing session, the Reaver tried sothing else. He'd felt it during all the battles ever since he beca an elental. Picking up Xera, he applied Essence Bond to her. The frosted runes crept down from her, onto his forearm, stopping at the Spectral Heart connecting the two.
The ether in the air rushed in, boosting essence regeneration further and hedging against fatigue. Plenty of changes manifested in every class ability he had since becoming an ice elental. Whether that be because of the 'life rating' change or the increased mastery over Elentalization was up for debate, likely a bit of both. Reviewing the two battles, first against the Ichor drinking duo, then Nenoth, Luke used those experiences as a guide. At the ti, stuck in the midst of fighting for his life, he couldn't spare too many complex thoughts. Now, the circumstances allowed further study.
He'd surpassed spending 20 essence multiple tis. Still no Withering Echo. The Reaver shrugged. He could tell the ability functioned at least, as it was 'prid' within his soul. Good enough for now. The runes spreading upon his skin from Xera as the source acted as vortexes. They granted a moderate strength buff, durability buff, and heightened clarity. He raised a hand toward the ceiling, and two Essence Lances appeared; four shards peacefully rotated around each.
Yeah. Two.
Shaking his head at the further rule-breaking, Luke pulled up the updated information on Essence Lance from the Interface.
[Essence Lance Tier 1, Rank IV]
The Reaver creates a focused lance of essence. Multiple effects dependent on use. Upon impact, the lance pierces through 60% of the target's armor and resistances, damage scales to intellect and essence control. Inflicts a 50% slow on affected target, reducing movent and attack speed for 15 seconds. Targets slowed have a 5% chance of having a stat stolen per second. Four ice shards rotate around the lance, each detonates to either accelerate the lance or alter its direction, based on user's will. Cost: 30 Essence. Cooldown: 24 Seconds.
Sure enough, the extra shard appeared in the description. ntions of why he could summon two now? Nada. Zilch. Zero. Obviously, it had sothing to do with the recent evolution or increased mastery of techniques. The Interface never really cataloged the effects of techniques. Hell, Luke couldn't find any tab for techniques at all. The other Defiers hinted techniques were sothing outside of the Interface's limits. That said, Essence Lance always ended up benefiting the most whenever his ice or essence evolved.
So fine. Two Lances, not like that was a bad thing. Essence Bond also had so other changes to its effects. Xera radiated additional frost when he used an attributed Essence Bond on her. As for the previous concentration difficulty, it may as well have not been a factor anymore. Luke looked up at the ceiling. The decor suited whatever the rage was for horrendously wealthy people—its detail did little for its purpose—in this case, a focus for Luke. The longer he lived in this Interface ruled, god creature gorged world, the more self-evident conclusions ford within.
The Interface was not all-knowing, nor was it necessarily a worthy guide to mbers of the four races that reached Expert in any technique. The Reaver would bet by tier 3, Expert technique or not, they too would notice it as a chain to the mortal shell than a tool for ascension. For every single 'interaction' with Elentalization and his baseline class abilities, he had to track them internally himself. Occasionally, he might get an Interface blurb when a technique upgraded, or sothing similar, as with Affinity Souls. But when it ca to solid details? Not a single tab or Interface section was dedicated to any of it.
Luke's answer was simple enough. The Interface failed to understand the deeper depths of things like techniques, racial evolution, and the deepest concepts he began to integrate into his Reaver abilities. Or, less pleasantly, it was influenced by a source not entirely on humanity's side. This structure, once a guide he relied on a smudge too far, transmuted into gilded chains. To confirm the hypothesis, the elental ford a two-foot-long solid piece of elental ice. Roughly at this size, a gray rune could appear on the ice itself, and sure enough, one did.
When he used the Interface to inspect the rune? No information. A static sound, a rejection at whatever ether link pervaded every soul on Ludus. As such, beyond figuring out that these runes vastly increased the durability of any ice that hosted them, Luke was clueless about any other uses. Walking to the balcony, his implanted aura obscured any sight of him, but Sylen's city districts on the other side ca clearly. The wealthy west retained calm. The south, in constant conflict with criminal looters. The east, a mix, and the north, a damn graveyard. Only the center still showed signs of being unchanged amid the pressure. An ice attributed Infusion lazily ford a foot away from Luke. Usually, he created them at his hands out of habit, but that stopped being a requirent for ages. Infusion already permanently applied to him, so adding it to himself again to further understand the differences now would be useless.
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Instead, he controlled it over in the air, splitting the ability as it settled within Xera and Whispering To. Other than the standard speed, attack damage, resistance increase, and stat steal chance boost that the ability typically gave, this 'frosted' version carried other aspects compared to the non-attributed one. Foremost, Xera handled Luke's elental frost far more easily, her vessel better suited to the elent while enchanted by an icy Infusion. Second, she gushed additional passive frost for Luke to manipulate. The Reaver got a sneaking suspicion the ability had deeper layers than that, parsing them exactly simply would require more in-depth testing or greater experience as both a Reaver and whatever the hell else he was now. An elental human of greed? That sumd it up nicely.
"That's enough testing for the night," Luke declared. Sooty cawed, stretching out her wings, enjoying the feeling for the last ti tonight. Double-checking his Inventory, he procured enough ergency potions and bandages to mitigate and overturn any unforeseen events. Unfortunately, in Luke's fight against Nenoth, he consud the irreplaceable battle talent elixir. He'd have to go without. Living ca first, over-preparedness second. Summoning a misty ice cloud, Luke dragged Xera and Wayfinder over. Whispering To floated in by its loneso.
Although he knew the set up aura sphere already obscured sight while in this inn room, Luke spread mist as an additional cover. Equipping the three artifacts once more, the Reaver put the final piece on. The Black tal Mask conford flawlessly, like a cooling gel. Luke, rather, Rune, barely felt it. That different shade of him poured forth. Sooty, in her eldritch, green-eyed, multiple black shadow tentacle form, wailed in complaint.
"I get it, glorious feathers, and wide wings are gone. It's temporary. You know that."
Lilith huffed. Droned? Anyway.
The iced mist turned into dark water, gray runes to hideous yellow, jewelry to gray, or silver. Xera changed into her shortened white blade form, and the weightless ghost blade appeared in Rune's left hand. The black and red illusion cloth settled upon his shortened and thinner fra. A piece of white hair fell to the floor. An odd share between ice—or the illusory water Rune deployed while under the Black tal Mask—was that he could make mist in either form. The color sche did change, to a murky black or gray, depending on density. Gesturing out with two fingers and a thumb, the hyper-wet brackish mist consud a large portion of the Western Quadrant near the inn. Yet he purposefully left the inn's interior unaffected. Rune walked to the opposite side of the room, gathering possessions.
Voice distorted by the mask, Rune commanded, "Lost one, find the way to the one most responsible for his disappearance." He waited for a second, confirming the viability through the thod learned earlier today, then said, "Devil's Needle."
Rising up from his chest, Wayfinder activated, the gray dull clasp, courtesy of the mask's illusion, opened up. The rest of Wayfinder was also transmogified by the illusion. Embers seared into the design, the needle beca gray-tinted, the artifact silent, but sizzling around the tal. The designs under the four directions turned abyssal black. A faint devil's laughter whispered in Rune's ears.
'Play into the Celestials' ga, Reaver. May you remain entertaining.'
Rune put a hand out in front of him, ignoring the taunt. His own ntal whispers from war had been doing that for years now. Nenoth, the Doppelganger, and others used familiar tricks—it couldn't affect his choices as much. That sparked an idea. He was ice as much as flesh, or under the mask's effect, water. So he tried sothing.
Slowly, the hand beca closely concentrated watery mist. Careful not to lose consciousness, Rune turned his entire body into mist itself. Granted, it still carried a human outline and couldn't spread out, in addition to reduced speed. Ghost Blade actually managed to turn ethereal enough to blend in with this elental form. Wayfinder floated, pointing in the sa direction since the beginning. Rune's armor lded in with him, but the three Artifacts and Lilith stayed whole.
Xera, confused, blurted out, "Master, where did you go? How are you supposed to swing or blast as mist?"
It took so effort, but Rune gradually beca capable of…speech? Vibrations. Close enough. "Lilith will handle the issue. This form should help prevent connecting this mad shade to the egotistical Defier. Sothing tells the rest of the night won't be peaceful. Enjoy the last bits of calm, Xera."
Never one to pretend to understand Luke—or 'Rune'—when he spoke in this sense, Xera glossed over it. "All that ans to is we're going to fight, right? Why didn't you say so sooner? Soot-, wait...that's right, Lilith, take away!"
The eldritch form wrapped around Xera, carrying her, and she hid in the shadow Rune ford regardless of his changed mass. Going slowly at first, Rune descended with Wayfinder leading the way. The compass usually never had the ability to move on its own, yet during Devil's Needle, it did. Ghost Blade glided within the human mist mass. The shrouded humid section moved with Rune as its center. Due to inexperience or an innate limit to this form, Rune couldn't use his usual speed. Its main purpose was to absolve any chance of people linking the paper trail of Luke buying a inn room for the night, and Rune leaving that sa inn. Chances of that were low before, but with this form, scant few could've possibly even sensed him leaving.
And that minority had far better things to do in the face of the Tide than keep tabs on the weakest Defier.
Of course, the Sound Shard Ophelia Cyrn planted would reveal the plain truth to that woman. Not that the slight hiccup would stop him, she already knew Luke was Rune, and Rune was Luke. In a twisted turn, it might actually be a good thing. Wading through the well-maintained streets of the Western Quadrant, Rune started to recognize where Wayfinder was taking him.
The deep west. Almost up against the mountain ridge Sylen sat between. That section of the city harbored the nickna 'noble's garden', the residence of the wealthy among the rich. In other words, the den of both the Miels and Pyrites, alongside others a step below them in influence or wealth, yet above the rest. Already, anger began to rouse within Rune.
Why am I not surprised? The Reaver internally seethed as Wayfinder pointed in damnation at the twenty-foot-long red tinged golden gate. It served as the main entrance to the Pyrite compound. The needle fixated on the tallest tower within the estate—unwaivering. The bubbling anger shook his mind so much that he reford into his corporal self. Ghost Blade already in hand. The Mist Shroud shrank, denser, yet undeniably shorter in range coverage.
Rune stared at that tower. It hid a powerful aura. One weaker than Musai's and the City Lord's, stronger than anything else he encountered ever since leaving the Reaver's Netherworld. Sothing above tier 3, but hollow. It couldn't be pinned as the next tier either. An abomination, against the natural progression of ascension.
Whatever, no, whoever was in that tower? They were the primary suspect for his father's kidnapping. Either a Pyrite mber or soone under their direct command. No matter the details, Rune condemned the Titled noble clan. While today he wouldn't purge them, by the ti he left Sylen for good, one of the two would be six feet under, and Rune planned on living a long ti. Wayfinder returned to normal, his sentience back.
The wise compass comnded his master, fully using the fact that none could hear him when Rune used the mask. "Good. You must be madder than a denied bull, swaggering on in there, sword frosted, ticks grimly for us all, lad. Pains springs to say, turn the other direction, we know another track in the trail, find a lick of peace in that."
Shards of Rune's body turned into black water; he nearly sounded like gears breaking as he tore away. He sensed a gaze coming from that arch tower, one that scread unrepentant. Fury solidified around Rune. Black brackish water bubbled and twisted in the vicinity.
Fate laughed at Rune, or smiled, depending on your outlook.
Chander Pyrite ca into the Mist Shroud's edges, and his older sister, Calista Pyrite. The wave of fury slamd into the young fla mage, cutting off his words. "Is there so way to avoid the Ember Grounds sister? That spell sword would never dare to harm the family direc—"
Once all annoyed smiles, half entertaining her beloved younger brother's protests, Calista instantly ripped Chander behind her. A black-masked figure stood directly in the path to the family estate. In combination with the pure fury radiating from the man and the rapidly spreading reputation, she already knew who they were. She guessed poorly about why he was there, though.
Thin, well made fla-scaled leather armor trimd with tallic gold swapped onto Calista's athletically muscled body. It bore the Pyrite crest of rising ash. The scars on her cheek started to spark fla that reached down onto her epic one-handed crossbow and Sun Orb set up. Golden eyes accentuated her auburn hair as she examined Rune in earnest.
"Got tired of bleeding away unsavory hounds, so you ca after the master, Rune? The Patriarch was going to deal with you after the Tide anyway." She positioned herself directly between Rune and Chander. "I always thought just one of the Pyres could do the task. Since you're here, stay for good."
Blue wisps bleeding out from the mask tightened. Rune thought for a second to clear up the misunderstanding. But why do so? He'd have to fight this woman one day. Her family, and him? They could never reconcile.
She thinks I'm here to attack her family directly after having my fun picking on the Red Gorrids and their vassal gangs.
Rune slowly shook his head, brackish water shifting with the movent. His distorted voice rumbled lowly, "I'll sever that boy's spine before you manage to kill , Calista Pyrite, Flare Hunter. Secretly dotes on her useless younger brother."
The woman may have never said her na. He picked up enough context clues with prior knowledge to know her identity. Rune studied in the Defier's library more than once, including dossiers on Sylen's two Titled noble families. About to taunt again, the Reaver sensed another presence at Calista's tier coming this way from within the Pyrite compound—fast. One tier 3 was already uncertain. Two would absolutely be beyond him. So, he moved. Montum needed to stay on his side since things unfolded this way.
Black winds arced all across his body as Rune used Triple Step, aiming not for Calista, but the blubbering idiot screeching insults behind her. Slick black water congealed over Xera, slipping past the hastily ford fla guard Calista summoned. She widened her eyes as Rune pierced it like wet paper. A Fla Domain burst out of her, desperate to push back Rune. His short white blade was three inches away from skewering into Chander's brain.
"STOP!" She pointed her crossbow, Heenmaris, at Rune and fired. Condensed water deflected the rushed shot and slamd into the Fla Domain, creating a mass of steam. Just as Rune slid Xera into one of Chander's eyes, a massive, towering bloodfla shield bashed into him, careening the Reaver toward the lake.
A giant, broad-shouldered man with golden hair and a squared jaw highlighting a scowl, funneled bloodflas into Chander Pyrite. He clamped his free hand onto the suffering mage's shoulder, who was currently screaming on the ground. "Endure it, nephew." He glanced at Calistia. "Take care of it, you're unable to protect him properly. I'll bring Chander into the estate, Patriarch's orders. He's watching, even now." He embedded a sun-lit shard into Calistia's clavicle.
As Rune got up from a distant roof, he bolted from the unexpected interference. Bits of blood leaked out the mask. He muttered, "Auren Pyrite, their oldest tier 3." He wasn't afraid. Instead, flummoxed Chander escaped death a second ti.
Flas built around Calista's nascent Domain. A soul projection all tier 3 combat class mbers of the four races obtained. Auren, the bloodfla knight, hauled Chander into the Pyrite Estate. He ignored Rune's glare. Once the gates shut and a sun-lit barrier enclosed the entire compound, he spoke to Calista, who stood on the other side.
"Educate this beggar why the Pyres are to be feared, Calistia. Incinerate the city, destroy the streets, scorch his body. Whatever it takes, make that bug regret today. He spilled noble blood, so take his common life in retribution. The Patriarch awaits results."
Moderating her emotions from nearly losing her brother, Calista collected herself. She landed her gaze on Rune in the distance, resolving herself to squash the man into cinders.
"The cost of hurting my little brother, Rune, is your worthless soul." Calista began to dash toward Rune, flas empowering her movent. Three bolts akin to flaming cots already streaked toward the masked maniac.
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