Eldritch Exorcist

To construct a spell this complicated, I needed time. But it looked like time would be given to me. As I was about to use Panther's Agility, the violent ball of fur crashed into the beast's supporting arm. He could not knock it out from underneath the demon. But it was enough to stagger it.

I quickly cast a first circle mind spell, Silent Message, delivering a couple of words to the minds of all targets in the limited range.

*Buy me as much time as you can. Jump away when I give the signal.*

Everyone quickly got over their surprise of hearing my voice in their minds and went on the offensive, with no plans of their own, clinging to the hope that I would finish it. I could see the priest parry a claw strike with the broad side of the sword, the nun try some blessing, and the boy throw some daggers. They had to hold out.

I closed my eyes.

The concentration needed for this was absolute. The next time I opened them would be with the spell complete or a claw piercing my chest. I needed to stitch together three concepts. I had combined two before, but never three.

I started casting.

I needed all of my mental focus dedicated to the task of controlling the mana and weaving concepts into the spell, so I could not omit anything, not a word of the chant or a rune from the hand gestures.

The chants were just an association game between you and the mana, while runes moved and shaped it. Since it was not an actual third circle spell, I would be winging it, using chants from different spells to imitate it, but that would have to do.

I could hear a scream and the clang of metal, but I ignored them.

First, the base of the spell, a flame.

In crackling hatred and burning pyre, heed my call, the thing of fire. Ancient thing of burning breath, come to me in smoke and death.

I cringed at the dramatics a bit. But they were doing their job. I could feel the mana stir, and using my knowledge of spellcraft, I pictured a flame with all its attributes. My hands traced runes, moving the mana, the energy obeying my command, lighting a small flame in my hand.

The easiest part was over. Next was the mystery of the mind. I pictured mental agony and despair. I tried to describe to the magic the process of the very mind unraveling under suffering, what it meant to the body, and what it meant to the soul. My hands once again danced in the runic patterns, shaping the mana to absorb my will.

A crash and a scream of fury could be heard.

Bring forth the ache, unmake the mind, your sightless eyes, no relief shall find.

The concept of damage to the mind slowly corrupted the flame.

Let madness bloom where dread takes root. Let pain forgotten bear its fruit.

The second part was done, and I could feel the mental burden increasing, a psychological weight on my shoulders. The flame, previously lively orange, crackling happily in my hand, transformed.

It was still a flame, no doubt, but now darker, the spectrum closer to violets. Instead of burning, it seemed to dance in a strange, ritual rhythm. The strands of energy sometimes took weird shapes reminiscent of screaming faces appearing for a split second, making the observer question if he even saw them in the first place.

Flame of Purgatory.

I considered casting the spell as it was, but no matter how much damage was done to the mind, the creature was a projection, a tangible one, but mostly held together by the soul. I needed to damage the soul directly, not through the flesh.

"Noooo!" I heard a scream coming from the battlefield and a squelch of something tearing through human flesh.

Time was ticking. My mind was still raw from dual casting, but like opening a barely scabbed wound, I prepared for the last part, bracing for the pain.

The third part, the mysteries of the soul. I aligned the runes with my hands, preparing the mana for my will, molding it, making it like a fertile ground, ready for the blasphemous seed of the spell.

I brought forth the secrets of the soul. I tried to describe the process of its unmaking, of the flame making its way to it and burning the outer shell. The surface layer was all I could muster with the second circle mana, but that should suffice. It had to.

Your spark within, now fades to black. Unmake the self, no pathways back. Through flame and ash, to curse your kin, crawl to me, the soul within.

The mana shook, trying to revert to its resting form. It understood that I was asking too much, that I was trying to force onto it secrets it had no business knowing. Like a fool, shrinking from the words of enlightenment, the very magic tried to cover its ears, not listening to the horror I was describing to it.

Pain split my head, like a hot iron brought to an already opened wound. I started to feel nauseous. The sounds of the battlefield came to me like distant echoes rather than something happening right in front of me.

I bared my teeth. Using my newfound control, I grabbed the magic, forcing it to listen as I screamed to it my terrible will. I probably also screamed outside my mind, but did not care as I continued.

No prayer here shall set you free, your dying screams will come to be.

I could see the flame change its color. The faces in it were now accompanied by strange hollows like yawning abysses. Some whispers came from the flame, like it was trying to tell some awful story to anyone foolish enough to listen.

Last part. I brought my hands in front of my chest, the runes were complete, now I just had to finish it. Last stretch. The spell was refusing my magic as I screamed every word as if fighting something trying to bind my tongue.

Here I stand, I give my name, this spell commands, YOU SHALL BURN.

Something clicked and fell Into place, the burden of casting lifted from my shoulders, with the pain leaving only a dull ache of raw spirit behind.

I lifted my head just to see everything gray, frozen for a second as I met her eyes. The strange phantom that sometimes showed itself when casting magic. Mana was alive, and it sometimes took personal forms, different for everyone.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

For as long as I can remember, mine looked like that, a strange, beautiful woman. The ghost that showed itself when I was particularly closely connected to magic, like a strange friend, always silent, always calm. Ghost in the mana, some called it. And by her smile, I knew I had succeeded.

She vanished like smoke disturbed by wind, and the screams and sounds of the battle hit me all at once.

I looked at the spell.

The flame transformed into a violet-black, with the strands of flame dropping the act of being fire and now just dancing in ominous shapes. The spell stabilized in my hand, a violet crystal set ablaze with black fire.

Hellfire

I checked on the battlefield. It did not look good. The priest was covered in blood. He managed to snap one of the claws, but paid the price as it was sitting deep in his shoulder, coming out from the other side. He could not lift his sword, now using its side as a makeshift shield, accumulating more and more damage, the armor-like blessing was the only thing holding him together.

The cat was to the side, trying to claw at the thing, as his tail dragged limply after him.

The kid was in tears, apparently having run out of daggers, trying to jump into action, held back by the nun's hand.

She was using the other hand with the rosary to cast blessings on the priest, dropping any idea of healing. I wanted to tell them to move, but the priest was barely standing on his legs.

Well, if they won't move, then I have to move the demon. Keeping the spell up with one hand, I used the staff to cast Panther's Agility and jumped forward.

The demon noticed me, attacking with claws like a scorpion. I dodged the attack and fired a Cut from the staff into one of its wounds just to get its attention. It worked. The demon turned to me and jumped forward on one leg.

That's what I was waiting for. Once the others were out of the way, I released the spell.

It got him right in the chest. There was a split second of silence, and the black fire crackled and started engulfing the creature, a projected body being like a dry twig for the spell.

It screamed in combined physical, mental, and spiritual agony. But it wasn't done yet. The spell was just surface level, and the creature could sense it as it used two claws to scrape at the flesh from his chest in one terrifying movement.

Fuck.

What a resilient beast. I heard a roar-like scream as I was about to figure out my next move. Nathan pulled himself from the nun's grasp and tackled the demon, charging into its back and pushing it forward right into the burning pile of its own flesh. With hatred, he used the handle of his own dagger, still sticking out of the skull, as a makeshift handle, keeping the demon's head in the fire while the flame licked his own hand as well.

Nathan screamed in agony but held firm for two seconds. That was enough. It caught on fire, and cutting off its own head was not an option. Before I could knock Nathan from the flame, the cat jumped through the fire, hitting him in the chest and pushing him off as the priest kneeled to hold the boy down, who was trying to throw himself at the demon again.

I ran for him, grabbing his burning hand. My spell was already attuned to me, so ending it was an instant. As the flame gave way, it showed the burned flesh underneath. Thankfully, he was not a construct, so at least it did not spread.

I went to the burning pile that was the demon. With my spirit aching from the spellcasting, I picked up the priest's sword, and with no small satisfaction, I pushed it into the head just to make sure it's dead before ending the spell.

Silence descended on the room as the smell of sulfur and burning flesh wafted in the air.

"Well, that was actually kind of excit-"

"Nathan!" screamed the nun.

I turned back to the kid. He was cradling the injured arm. The nun tried casting a healing spell on it, but it did not do much to help.

I shook my head. "That won't do much. It was hellfire."

"Hellfire?" exclaimed the cat. Then he turned his eyes to the boy. "Might he lose his arm?"

"No, it was a lower, makeshift version. The damage to the soul is barely surface level, hurts like hell, but won't do anything more. It will be tough to heal and leave a nasty scar, though, if you don't have anyone who can soothe the soul."

"There should be someone in the main church," said the nun, releasing the boy and going to the priest to close his wounds.

"No!" said Nathan firmly. "If it won't debilitate me, then I want the scar. I-I killed Father Marco." He said with tears in his eyes. "So, like Cain was marked by God for the first murder, I will have a mark to remind me of this."

"Nathan…" said the nun weakly.

"I have to. I don't want it healed. I need to be better," He said through gritted teeth.

"Not bad, kid. I think Marco would be proud," I said, looking at the boy.

"How would you know that? I wouldn't be surprised if he hated me. He would have every right," he snapped back, his voice pained as he tried to find a position where his hand did not cause anguish.

"I might not be the best when it comes to emotions, but a father's approval and a hunter's pride are things I understand. I was only a little bit younger than you are when my father took me for a real life-and-death battle."

I let my thoughts wander as I relaxed, the pleasant feeling of victory filling me. It made me think of that night, the first time I faced a real threat by myself. I looked at the still-smoldering corpse, reminding me of the bonfire and smoke of that night.

"I was around 15, I think. There was a cult, some devil-worshipping clowns who ran into a real grimoire and summoned one of the nastiest ghosts I've seen. They ended up kidnapping young women and sacrificing them to him in some foul rite, so they ended up at the top of my family's future-sacrifice list. But during the battle, their leader managed to get possessed. I knew I could die, and so did my father, but he trusted me to handle it. I danced on the verge of death that night but came out victorious. I remember the pride in his smile. That night, he taught me how to sacrifice souls to our patron without an altar, using only an idol."

The warmth of the fire, the deep rumbling-like singing of the butler, the laughing of the old maid, and my father explaining the nature of dark gods with a smile on his face. Even the jar in which his head sat could not disturb his expression that night.

"And... um, that's a good memory?" the nun stuttered.

"One of my best."

"R-right, ummm..."

It became a bit awkward for some reason. 3 in charisma starts to show, I guess.

"Look, what I'm trying to say is I can tell a battle you should be proud of when I see one, and that was it. And with the mana missing from our world, the souls tend to linger for a while before ascending. So I think you made his trip easier, kid. If he was as good a man as you say, he went with pride in his acolyte."

"Oh, that's actually… thanks, really thanks." Nathan nodded his head, his eyes losing focus, probably lost in memory.

I shrugged, ending my own memory trip.

Well, all that was left was to deal with the aftermath. I looked over the smoldering corpse. There it was, a blob of magic with third-circle density. It was tempting, but a bit of doubt crept into my mind.

What if the magic was not returning?

What if the vein in the house was just an anomaly, and I would just end up in a coma?

But then I quickly rejected that thought. Vein connects, and right after that, I hear the word 'miracle' spoken in the context of a weird curse, then the demon.

Once I was back, I had to confirm my theory. I had to know. But sadly, the answer lay in one of my family's journals, and unlike the magic books, I hadn't memorized those.

"I will take Father Paul and Nathan to the infirmary," said the nun, helping the priest to his feet. "Then I have to check your tail." She finished, pointing at the cat.

The old man who ran here before us and survived the battle in one of the wardrobes also looked eager to leave.

"I want to check the body," I said. "I will follow you out and pick up the doll on my way. Do you mind if I have it?"

"No, you can take that accursed thing as far as possible." The nun was glad to rid herself of it.

However, the cat gave me a look filled with suspicion, but considering it was my kill in the end, I deserved that much. "When you are done, come to me for the reward as agreed," he said and went after the nun.

I was left with the body and the mana. I could absorb it in peace and take a first step on the road to my first ascension.