My Wives Are A Divine Hive Mind

The debate erupted anew in the grand chamber, voices clashing like spells in a chaotic duel.

The elder storm witch, her lightning eyes flashing with authority, raised a gnarled hand to quell the initial murmurs, but the floodgates had opened.

"We cannot risk unbinding them," declared a witch from the mid-tier balcony, her body translucent and shimmering like a veil of mist, her hat adorned with droplets of condensed fog that dripped endlessly without wetting the floor below. "These two have already evaded our countless layers of wards once. Who knows what dangers they might unleash if freed? Their actual identity and intention could be a harbinger of something far worse than mere theft."

From an adjacent balcony, a witch with feathers sprouting from her skin like a living avian cloak countered sharply, her hat feathered to match, quills rustling as she gestured.

"Outrageous! This is the Mage Court, the pinnacle of arcane mastery in the Resilient Mother, and all of Myovernia! To suggest that we, with our combined prowess, cannot contain two bound sinners is an insult to every ward etched into these walls.

"The containment platform alone could hold a rampaging elemental—unbind them and let us witness their so-called art!"

The mist-veiled witch shook her head, fog swirling around her form. "Wards are not infallible, as they have already proven. What if their skills corrupt the very essence of our spells? We have seen anomalies before that twisted magic into oblivion. Caution must prevail over curiosity."

A third voice joined from a higher tier, belonging to a witch whose hair writhed like living serpents, each strand ending in a tiny, hissing mouth, her hat coiled with golden bands to mimic a serpent's crown. "Caution? This chamber is layered with protective formations that suppress even the mightiest incursions. If we fear two famished wanderers, what does that say of our strength? Unbind them, I say, and let their demonstration reveal the truth. The barriers will hold any outburst, just like they used to!"

The avian-feathered witch nodded vigorously, her quills standing on end. "Precisely. Our illusions warp perception, our runes bind essence—nothing escapes this hall. To cower now would diminish the Mage Court's legacy!"

From the lowest balcony, a witch with crystalline shards embedded in her flesh, her form refracting light into rainbows, her hat faceted like a gemstone, leaned forward with a scoff.

"Knowledge at what cost? Fools! Their lack of Mana Psyche is unnatural. Unbinding them might invite a void that devours our own energies. We should probe them with divinations first, not risk a direct unleashing!

The serpent-haired witch hissed in response, her strands echoing the sound. "Divinations have already failed to penetrate them, as the metal one attested."

"Assertion without wisdom is folly. These sinners bypassed our detection once; unbinding them could fracture the containment. What if their art is not spellcraft but something antithetical, eroding our foundations? We must consider the Resilient Mother's core—it cannot afford any more instability."

"Indeed. Our wards are strong, but against the unknown? Better to bind them further and extract truths through safer means. Curiosity should not blind us to peril!"

"In this hall, surrounded by the finest mages? Outrageous fear-mongering. The protective hum along the walls alone neutralizes unauthorized magic. Unbind them, observe, and if they prove dangerous, our combined arts will subdue them in an instant."

"We have precedents of anomalies that turned wards against us. No, keep the bindings intact!"

The debate swirled on, opinions fracturing like shattered glass. A witch with eyes that swirled like galaxies, her form dotted with star-like freckles, her hat a constellation of embedded jewels, argued for unbinding, "The Mage Court thrives on revelation. To deny this demonstration is to stagnate our knowledge.

"Wards, illusions, barriers— we are prepared."

After what felt like an eternity of verbal sparring, the elder storm witch slammed her fist on the railing, thunder echoing through the hall.

"Enough! The verdict is settled. The Holy Guardian Dorose shall unbind the sinners and permit their demonstration. Our wards stand vigilant; shall there be any sign of dissident and imminent danger, we all will collectively attempt a full erasure at the sinners. Let the truth unfold."

A hush fell as Dorose materialized once more, her slender form gliding from the shadows with effortless grace.

Her blond bob framed a face of serene authority, her modified butler outfit and cape adorned with chained holy crosses that gleamed softly.

With a simple wave of her hand, the chains and crosses dissolved into motes of light, vanishing without a trace.

Noirette flexed her wrists, feeling the Malleable Essence stir freely within her reach once more.

Though, it definitely sore her muscles more than she expected, considering that she no longer had any backings from her Well of the Soul.

Dorose offered a faint smile before stepping back, her presence fading from the collective awareness as if she had never been there.

Noirette turned to Blanchette, her voice low amid the expectant silence. "Do you have any plan for keeping up with this?"

Blanchette's lips curved into a smile, her crimson eyes twinkling. "Playing along with these bunch of spell nerds seems fun. Use what you have learned so far." She winked, her meaning clear without elaboration.

Noirette nodded, grasping the implication.

She stepped forward on the platform, addressing the assembled witches. "I must explain that I am still a newbie when it comes to spellcasting. I can only showcase the intrinsic method of the spell itself and nothing more—no fancy magic or anything that these esteemed mages are able to reach."

The witch with the telekinetic puppet arms, her porcelain limbs gesturing permissively, nodded from her podium. "Proceed with your demonstration."

Noirette closed her eyes briefly, drawing upon the Malleable Essence surrounding her.

This was one of her first deliberate attempts, though she had unconsciously interacted with it before—during the clash with the five-headed snake or the troll, where instinct had guided her.

It would not be flawless, but neither would it falter entirely.

She pondered a simple spell to mimic, settling on fire conjuration.

"Fireball, that should be the most intrinsic kind of magic spell in all fiction," Noriette grinned.

Drawing from her modern knowledge, she recalled the scientific essence of fire—a rapid oxidation process where fuel combines with oxygen in an exothermic reaction, releasing heat, light, and byproducts like carbon dioxide and water vapor.

The triangle of fire—heat, fuel, and oxygen—must align; remove one, and it extinguishes.

In her mind, she envisioned manipulating the Essence to replicate this—accelerating molecular vibrations for heat, providing ethereal fuel from the void, and simulating oxygen's role to sustain combustion.

With focused will, she molded the Malleable Essence, her hands glowing faintly as a prismatic ball of fire coalesced in her palm. Colors shifted through the flames—reds bleeding into blues, violets flickering like a rainbow trapped in inferno—born not from Mana Psyche but from her intent bending reality.

The chamber fell silent, every witch's gaze locked in stunned disbelief.

No surge of energy registered on their wards; no detectable flow of Hemo or Mana Psyche underpinned the act.

It was as if the fire had willed itself into existence, bypassing the foundational concoction of skills that defined true spellcraft.

But Noirette pressed further, crystallizing the fire. She imposed structure upon the chaos, forcing the flames into a rigid, gem-like form—translucent facets that gleamed like quartz—yet the fire continued to burn, heat radiating, tongues of prismatic light dancing within the crystal prison.

The texture was solid, pseudo-crystalline, but the properties of combustion persisted—where oxidation unchecked, and exothermic release undimmed.

The Mage Court exploded into chaos once more.

"No Hemo Psyche involved—impossible!" cried a witch with veins of glowing ink tracing arcane tattoos across her skin, her hat scripted with living runes that writhed in agitation. "This defies the core of spellcasting, there is no skills layered, and not a droplet of energy drawn!"

A witch whose form flickered like a holographic projection, her hat a shimmering veil of light, leaned forward excitedly. "Hypothesis: It is a mimicry of essence manipulation, drawing from an external void source."

"It skipped the concoction entirely, like! Skills should interweave like threads in a tapestry, yet this is a seamless weave from nothing!"

From another balcony, a witch with clockwork gears embedded in her flesh, her hat ticking like a timepiece, chimed in. "What if it is a temporal compression? She accelerated the natural process, but just without Mana flow?"

The holographic witch countered. "Not temporal; it is definitely a probabilistic imposition, which can theoretically force outcomes without energy cost, heh."

A witch with floral patterns blooming across her dress, her hat a crown of petals that opened and closed, interjected. "No, it is elemental synthesis from will alone. For example, bypassing Psyche by tapping primal forces!"

The gear-embedded witch ticked her fingers. "Scans show no elemental affinity. It is essence forgery, faking the triangle of elements by an utter bastardiation of a brand new energy."

"And what is this so-called brand new energy you spoke of?"

"I have no idea."

"Is this just me but does nobody point out how she conjured that pretty fire without a catalyst?"

"The root itself, which is the process of concoction of skills, is absent, who cares about the catalyst."

Back and forth the theories flew, voices overlapping in fervent speculation.

The interweaving continued, hypotheses clashing—some excited by potential in alchemy, others fearful of destabilizing wards and many more implications of this—for nearly an hour.

Noirette glanced at Blanchette, who watched with satisfied poise.

"This will take a while."

"It will take a while."

Dorose appeared sporadically, offering snacks and drinks with quiet efficiency—a tray of fruits, vials of drinks—before vanishing again.

It was nice of her, Noirette thought.

Finally, after quite a long time, the telekinetic witch raised her porcelain arms.

"The verdict is rendered. The sins of Noirette Chariot and Blanchette Chariot within the Resilient Mother bastion will be forgiven…

"Provided they join the Mage Court."