Mythshaper

Jinn

The squalling wind disregarded Jinn, curling around him, billowing the dozens of shadowy straps of his soul cloak. He charged at the blighted daemon, imposing his aura in its utter dominance.

Despite that, he fell short against the Ash Lord. It was only through the cancelling effect of Nullification that he still managed against a monster that had over two thousand years to cultivate its skills.

It was not the first time Jinn had fought an Ash Lord. The other time, he was too inexperienced, unjaded in the ways. Hundreds of warriors fought back then to make sure a few of them came out alive. They had failed to kill the Ash Lord, if that was even possible. What they managed, however, was to destroy the vessel it inhabited, giving them the slight chance to have the upper hand.

Their approach now was the same. Finding the wear and tear on the vessel only made them double down on the plan. Although the strategy was not without its own peril.

These Ash Lords had lived over thousands of years, warriors without equals, and eternal in their own right, but they were mostly mad. Tormented by the very power raging through them.

Once it lost its current vessel, it would not simply leave, as it was the most suitable option. No, it would very likely want to possess someone else, and level the town in its wrath before any help could arrive.

So killing the vessel would not suffice. They had to fight the Daemon the correct way, and the only way possible, as the legends went.

Fortunately, Jinn had the ideal instrument for it.

Ouroborus surged with dark tendrils of aura, mirroring a similar effect to the Ash Lord's dark power. It was not mere replication, but the blade's greatest merit and curse that it gave the owner access to Midnight Essence, the very power that made all the magical attacks on the Daemon inconsequential. Jinn had the merit sealed most of the time, so that he would not have to carry the curse.

As dire as the battle was going, he was not against facing dire consequences if he could make sure they could come out of it alive and well. But to even have that chance, he had to make sure the Daemon did not see the blade for what it was.

Jinn forced the dark tendrils to withdraw back into the relic.

As he engaged the Ash Lord, Ashlyn made her preparation in secret, despite channelling a part of her soul ward to distract it. They had exchanged little words coming into the battle, and none of it evidenced anything she was about to do. Despite not fighting alongside each other for years, they still had the synergy to know the other's intentions. They would fight the daemon with one mind, pouring their everything, because the alternative was impossible to bear.

With one exchange of looks, their intentions had been clear from the very beginning. They would fight against impossible odds so that the town folks lives, that their son had a tomorrow.

So when the crackling tremors broke through the shrouding clouds with the lightning lighting up the darkened land, Jinn shifted into the fifth form of his swordsmanship. Aura surged through his being, beckoning the lightning of the heavens to his blade, to mould it to his will, to do untold damage to the things that went against the natural laws of the universe.

The demons were resistant to most essence-based attacks, and that stubborn quality only grew the greater a demon was. But the same was not true for aura resonances.

As the lightning fell from the sky like the very Wrath of Heaven, calling retribution for all its transgressions, the daemon scrambled to defend itself. The dark plume bubbled from its bone armour, it even wrapped itself in a time bubble, decelerating its personal time. Sword aura rose, curling around its caricature.

The Wrath of Heaven tore through it all in one clean stroke. The sphere of time crumbled under the rending force and crashed through all its defences to send the daemon crashing onto the ground, its bony wings wrenched awry, black ichor running through various scalding wounds.

But Jinn would be a fool if he thought it ended here. Without giving further consideration, he channelled his aura, and all his soul into the Wrath of Heaven, forcing the very sky to punish the traitorous daemon incessantly for all its sins.

***

Power sizzled through my veins, reaching towards my essence seed, providing it with just enough stimulation that made the whole endeavour possible. That did not mean it was easy, however.

The lesser essence tonics were strictly for common class, diluted to such a degree that they would have minimal effect on anyone above the common class. Additionally, we were supposed to ingest one at a time and have a good month or two interval between them to avoid complications in our foundation. I had never taken a single essence tonic, so their effect on me was the most poignant. Even still, after gulping down three of the vials, it barely gave me a chance of advancement, and that was after I already had significant progress with the second root bud growing.

"Hey, Spell," I blurted, boring my gaze onto the wheel mark on my palm. If the tonics were not enough, there was still another way to provide me with the stimulation. Glaring at the 178 points I had, I said, "Allocate 100 points into Adaptive Physicality, and the rest into Arcane."

There was no time for half measures. As the warm surge of essence washed over me, I ignored all the consequences I might face for this hasty advancement and poured all my effort into channelling the power into my essence seed, to the root bud. It was certainly possible to outdo a couple of weeks of nurturing in an instance, provided with enough stimulation and essence. The problem was the instability it brought to my seed.

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Advancing to Noble Class, my essence seed had become more substantial than I would have hoped, especially since it was a Prime seed, whatever that entailed. The root of the matter was that, it was because of this immutable seed that I put all my effort into this gamble, thinking I could get away with this without any dire consequences.

I think I did.

Only that I had not thought through what came after. In most of my advances, the amount of essence I channelled rose by a considerable margin. It was always a welcoming effect, something I could handle, but as the second aether root took shape, the sheer amount of essence it introduced was almost equal to the current reservoir of my essence.

Even my Primal seed was overwhelmed. The change came right after the advancement, giving it no time for gradual progress. The radiant emerald seed churned with power, ripping through its bounds to expand further, unable to concentrate the energy properly. My entire form twisted. I crouched, holding my stomach, jaws clenched tight. Veins bulged throughout my body, blood running through them at an impressively fatal rate.

Uncle Dalin, Delric, Lucien, even Aleya fought to protect me. They were screaming at me, asking questions I did not have the mental faculty to process.

To consolidate the fresh essence within the seed was no instantaneous task. But I did not have hours, Guildmaster did not either, and neither did the people scrambling behind the guards. Forcing myself to stand, I channelled the potent power outwards. It seared through my channels as I shaped them into streaking arrows of fire, surging towards the corpse flies.

The weaves did not pose any threat to the demons. All they managed was to drive them to evade the gushing arrows, buying a moment for the fighters.

"Are you done?" Lucien bellowed, already running out of essence.

I was about to croak an answer when the Spell's cheerful voice stole my words. Finally.

[Congratulations, Wayfarer! You have taken a stride into your path.]

[9 points are available to empower your Aspects. Please choose carefully.]

"Invest 5 into Influence," I rasped, having calculated the answer beforehand. "The rest into Will."

A gripping pain flowed through my entire being, followed by an outstanding ethereal sense of power and domination. The eye of my aspect opened to new ground in a surging force. Thankfully, the boost in my Will led me to have more control over my power.

I turned to the artefact floating in the air and expanded my reign over it. With my Influence growing over three times, I snapped and wrenched all the two hundred and fifty-six threads to clamber onto the dome. Essentially, I would only require three more points in Influence to encompass the entirety of the opening. But to be safe, I poured two extra points.

Connecting the artifact to the formation was easier said than done, however, especially when dozens of monstrous bats battered the forcefield.

It would have been feasible if the formation had essence threads to cling to, but the hallowed ward was esoteric and shaped by ancient runes in its entirety. All I could hope it to work together with the artifact.

Well, the gushing stream of essence certainly made it possible. I devoted all my Will to bind the forcefield to the larger formations, stitching the threads one by one as my control allowed me, while the blistering consequences coursed through my being. A healing potion could surely help with that, but that would have to wait.

It was unusual to impose my will over an essence I did not control. Despite being astoundingly arduous, it was not any more harrowing than what I had borne through a moment ago. The oddity was the strange sensation I could not clearly pinpoint. It was similar to the growing pressure I felt on the Jade path during my advancement, but far more insidious, like the hallowed energy I was channelling had a will of its own and was lashing out at me for my audacity.

I presumed Essence unification would alleviate the pressure as it did during my advancement, but it did the exact opposite. The animalistic will punctured through my dominance, forcing me to reconfigure my entire assumption about this whole endeavour.

The harrowing sensation was not in my physical body, but entirely in my Will, and the soul at the very inception of the aspect. At worst, it still made the binding prospect swifter.

The battle of will was akin to burning a candle from both ends. No matter the conclusion, it all promised my own suffering. But there was no way of stopping it now, not when hundreds of lives were at stake.

At least, the forcefield obstructed any monsters from slipping in.

The distant roar of thunder barely registered in my mind, preoccupied with the battle I had no experience in. Distraught, I tried to see if the [Bell of Somnus] would be of any help.

It was not. Not in the way I hoped.

Under my authority, it chimed constantly in my mind, enveloping me in a streaming silver light of protection, leaving me with only a clearer mind to deal with the attrition of will.

To my surprise, it appeared the simile of a burning candle at both ends did not hold true entirely. Will was not an expendable force like essence. The closest analogy would be stamina or endurance. So long as I did not die, I did not give up; the candle would remain lit.

While I was engaged in the battle of will, the real battle outside was not faring as well as I had hoped.

The forcefield had shut the gap in the ward, stopping the number of the demons from rising. That should have made the fight easier, only that many of the fighters were on the brink of losing it. Auxiliary Lucien had already run out of essence, and took shelter next to me. Even Delric and the others were barely moving, leaving the duty of driving away the aerial monsters largely to Uncle Dalin. But the man, too, was merely Noble Class, True Swordsman or not. He could not battle at his own pace when everyone else was floundering around him.

The civilian casualty was lower than I anticipated, much to my surprise. Unfortunately, there were a number of martyrs littered all around us.

Yanking a sword from one such fallen warrior, I assumed the Walking Mountain stance.

***

The Daemon stood up, its twisted limbs snapped back into form, the severe wounds sealed back, charred flesh returning to pale complexion, but various cracks still remained all over its body, its body carapace, its wings, or its face, smouldering in dark blood. The Ash Lord showed no urgency in healing them, if it could even recover from a body breaking from being unable to hold its power.

Its gaze was locked entirely onto the swordsman, the damned swordsman that brought the wrath of heaven onto itself.

The woman, the blessed of the Star Phoenix, took advantage of its lapse of judgment and ambushed, confining it with chains of soul runes. A harrowing weight settled onto its being. Even for a being as great as it was, the pressure crept onto its soul. If it were merely an attack on its undying soul, the Daemon could have swatted it away with boisterous laughter.

But the chains resonated in an echo of something strange. Something unfamiliar. It tore at its body, raising the rupture of dissonance between its soul and vessel.

In the over three thousand years it had lived, it never faced a power as strange as that commanded by this woman. As its body tore from inside out, the Daemon gazed from the man to the golden-armoured woman.

Then finally, it glanced at the cracks on its armour, felt its ichor dripping from its cheeks, and decided against holding back its power.

An endless mass of chthonic plume rose from the Ash Lord, stitching in all its surroundings, swallowing everything in its wake, to bring its enemies into the land of perpetual darkness, where only its power reigns.