Primordial Unleashed: Epic Progression Fantasy

If Skippii blurred his eyes and ignored the details, he could pretend that things had gone back to normal.

During the five days after the battle at the river Erithas, the legion recovered its strength, salvaged the battlefield and raided the surrounding Ürkün camps. Arrayed across the rolling fields, the legionnaires faced the inspection of their superiors, then embarked as a massive column heading north east towards the city of Nerithon, where awaited the Fifth Legion. From their position in the lowlands, all that was visible of the city were smokestacks rising towards a clear sky, but upon the correct hour of sunset, one could spot the gleam of marble from the pillars of its chief hilltop temple. Each hill they crested, Skippii found himself peering over the heads of the column towards a flat-topped mountain in the great distance. Each day, it seemed to grow larger, a dark crown of rock atop a fertile dress of forest.

Skippii's tasks remained much the same: awake to trumpets, eat breakfast, pack down the camp, fall in line, march for six hours, arrive at the new camp, set up and eat dinner… but there, his routine changed. Instead of relaxing in the twilight hours, or attending chores, his companeight agreed to pick up his slack–sharpening weapons, cleaning pots, sewing tears–so that he and Cliae could depart for the outskirts.

There, Skippii called upon his powers, quietly and carefully, not to disturb the auxiliaries or any prowling magus. Cliae assisted him in forging his magia around specific abilities, which warmagi called an ordinatio. For the time, he possessed just three distinct evocations: Blazing Fist, and its sister-ability Blazing Armour; Firetail Lance, and a new power, which Cliae had named Seismic Quake.

"Focus on your core," the slave said as they arrived at a secluded woods. "That's the key to developing your ordinatio. It's unique to you."

"My edge," he said. A memory of Aetheria–the Coven magus–flashed in his mind; her vehement accusation in her eyes: The Gods did not suffer equals when the Pantheon was created. Why should we?

"Too right, we're not equals," he muttered. Drawing his magia from the source, he looked inward and felt as his halo brightened–a ring of golden energy which formed a shell around the power which he was able to maintain. At its centre was a red spot–an ugly graze. It had grown larger since his evocation upon the riverbank. Breathing in, magia flowed up through his feet and swelled within his chest; the halo shone–he could feel the fires simmer beneath his flesh, awaiting his command. But the red spot remained distant and dim.

"I don't know how to reach it," he said. "This new power."

"How did you do it on the riverbank?" Cliae asked.

"Then, I went too far. I fell into it." He pressed his fingers into his sternum, trying to demonstrate the feeling. "Like I was crumpling up. Burning up." He shuddered.

"Some, who beseech the Gods, experience such things. Magia consuming them. My father once tutored an apostle of Chrysaetos. He always preached caution. The Golden Eagle's champions suffer the shortest life-span, but burn the brightest."

"That's… interesting. But, doesn't put me at ease."

In the quiet which followed, a woodpecker chiselled a tree above them, and songbirds gathered, serenading the orange setting sun. Skippii took a breath to calm his nerves. He had sworn to the Imperator to command his power, but how could he control that which he feared?

"It felt like reaching?" Cliae said, adopting a straightforward tone.

"Yeah, like falling."

"And… if you were to fall from a ledge, what would you do?"

"Grab on."

The slave's eyes searched the canopy for answers. "Is there something to grab on to? To ground yourself? A ledge? Maybe me? I could hold you up."

"A ledge," he mused. By solidifying his halo, he had created a shell of sorts around his core–allowing the magia which he drew from the earth to remain stable inside his body. It had taken physical and mental strain, but never had he felt in peril. He expected something similar was required to elevate this pervasive, deeper power, but Cliae was right. He needed a ledge to hold on to. And what better purchase than his very own magia?

"I've got an idea."

Drawing a breath and shutting his eyes, the light of his core shone in his mind as its heat pulsated in the centre of his chest. He focussed on the halo, empowering it. After just a few breaths, it glowed white hot. He kept his focus on its fires burning beneath his flesh and felt them awaken upon his skin. Though his attention remained on its shell, a distant vestige of his mind probed inwards, venturing deeper and further–like a single finger outstretched. All the while, he breathed, concentrating on the immediacy of his flesh. His surroundings. The heat. His heartbeat.

Suddenly, the probing finger stung as it touched the depths. Drawn to it, his gut wrenched as he felt he was standing atop a high cliff, leaning over the edge. Tensing his abdomen, he breathed slowly, backing away from the ledge, grasping with his other hand at the halo like the root of a tree.

Torn between two extremities, he held on tight. His body strained, as though his wrists were bound and stretched by horses. Shaking with exertion, he drew each extremity of his core together. Slowly, the distance between them shrank. It was as though he was bringing the depths up to meet him–submitting the very earth itself.

"Come on," he said through gritted teeth. The red spot brightened and grew as magia flowed into it. He saw that it was not an ugly graze, but a diminished gem, and he was hauling it into the firelight to where again it could gleam.

Suddenly, the connection snapped. The earth rumbled. He opened his eyes as the canopy shook, loosing twigs and leaves. Cliae watched him mesmerised, stylus and wax tablet at the ready. Their black eye was nearly healed, and twitched with anticipation.

"I almost had it," he said, then shut his eyes again. Indeed the gem was there at the centre of his halo. But it was not stable, unlike his halo. As the magia fled his body, it diminished again.

"That was a bit loud, though." He glanced around them at the shadows of the darkening forest.

"It can't be helped," Cliae said. "Now, describe it."

And so he trained, uninterrupted, for three nights while the legion marched. The Coven did not impede him, but always, there were watchful eyes upon him. His renown had spread throughout the entire camp–eight thousand strong. Legionnaires turned their heads as he walked by, and more than once, he overheard them. "Is that him?", "Urkun bane?", "The Imperator's Flame?"

Occasionally, he was saluted by a fellow legionnaire, but most would not meet his eye, only, he could feel them staring when he was not looking.

Less inconspicuous was the arcanus, Clarivoxa Kylinissa. She pursued Skippii like a shadow, draped in her dark cloak, always watching, but never approaching. Often, the sun had set by the time they had found a secluded spot in which to train away from the strung-together tents of the Brenti javeliners and Clidus archers, whose camps scattered around the main legion's defences; but each evening, no matter how far they travelled, Skippii could heart the arcanus' footfalls in the forests behind them, or else saw her silhouette on the hillside above.

"Who do you think she answers to?" Skippii said, sitting on the streambank. It had taken them more than an hour to find somewhere secluded to train. The night air was brisk and the waters icy, but he was streaked with sweat, a thin mist rising from his body. Cliae had instructed him to first push the limits of magia which his core could contain, then to carefully and precisely perform his evocations. The practice had left him feeling drained and thrumming with heat like a long sprint on a hot summer's day.

"I believe all arcanus answer to the Legion," Cliae said, setting aside their wax tablet to gaze up the hillside. "Though, it must be difficult for her."

Skippii huffed. "For her? How so?"

"Well, she is an acolyte of Kylin, the same Goddess whom the Coven worship. She might have had ambitions to join their ranks one day. Or, she might see them as a divine authority, whereas the Legion is more a mortal authority. When she testified at the Imperator's counsel, she was forced to make a decision between the two."

Skippii scowled, gazing up at the dark figure watching over them. He had feared her for a time, and now she was a nuisance, but he had never considered her feelings on events. He didn't think she had feelings, just cold inquisition, but perhaps that was unfair.

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"I don't know why the Coven don't just follow the commands of the legion," he said. "Make them a contingent just like the cavalry and the archers. Fit them in. Things would work better that way."

"Ahh, but the Pantheonos wouldn't like it. They would declare that the legions were placing themselves above the authority of the Gods."

"But the legions answer to the senate. They are the hand of the Imperium. The will of the people. If the Gods wanted something doing, then why don't they just do it themselves?"

"The Coven would argue that they perform the will of the Pantheon, which supersedes the senate."

"Alright," Skippii said exasperatedly. "Whose side are you on?"

"I… No, I meant-"

"I'm just kidding," Skippii smiled. "You're right. I'm just unlucky enough to be stuck in the middle of it all."

"At least the Imperator trusts you."

Skippii sighed, adding to the evaporating mist. "He's gambling with me. High risk, high reward. If I can prove I'm not a heretic or liability, then he thinks I'll make a good weapon."

"What do you think?" Cliae asked.

He shrugged. "I think I'm glad they didn't toss me to the Coven. I think I better get control over this thing before he changes his mind."

"No," Cliae persisted. "What do you think about being used as his weapon?"

The question seemed so plain that it caused Skippii to stumble. "Well, as a legionnaire, I'm a spear. I am his weapon, that's all I've ever wanted to be. With this power, I could be more. I don't…" he shook his head. "What more is there than that?"

"Just wondering." Cliae settled back on the streambank. "Are you ready to plumb the depths?"

"Dive for pearls?" Skippii said lightheartedly to mask his nerves. Three nights in a row, he had empowered his core in an attempt to bring the gem at its centre to bear, just as he had done the halo. But each night he tried, he had been forced to withdraw before he lost control and fell in. What would happen then, he could only assume, would be the same as what had happened upon the streambank: a massive expulsion of magia–his own lifeforce being piled on the pyre–unconsciousness and the approach of death.

The visage of a maleficent demon skulked in the shadows of in his memory, its three faces gripped with cruelty and terror.

Skippii shuddered, and put the thought from his mind. Soon, the legion would reach the city of Nerithon and encamp with Legion V in the siege. Their duties would increase, and he would find it harder to discover secluded spots for them to train. It had to happen tonight. He had to command what was his.

"We're pretty isolated," Cliae said, sensing his hesitation.

Skippii looked around the dusk hillside. In the distance was a quiet farmstead, orange glow emanating from its windows. Above them, the arcanus had sunk into the shadows, but he could still sense her presence there, like the watchful eyes of a fox.

"Okay," Skippii said. "And if I lose control here, I won't take out half the cohort with me."

"That's the spirit," Cliae smiled nervously, taking an involuntary step backwards.

As he had practiced, Skippii drew his magia from the earth, letting it swell inside his core. He shut his eyes and focussed on the sensations inside his body and within that elusive part of his mind which possessed an eye for the essence of magia.

His halo burned bright–solidly–and clutching the power in his mind, he reached deeper. Stretching into the earth, he scoured the depths and soon came upon the magia at its centre. No longer was it a distant spot, but the crest of an unearthed gem whose body still hid beneath the earth.

Upon touching its surface, a connection was formed and he was drawn towards it. His magia flowed up through the earth, pouring into his core, empowering its shell-like halo and draining through it, rushing into the gem. It brightened at his touch, growing larger in his mind.

"That's it." He gritted his teeth, drawing it from the depths, empowering it with energy. The ground beneath him hummed–a low vibration that sang inside his body–resonating inside his core. Its earthen tomb crumbled. The gem shone brighter as it rose from the depths until it encompassed his whole mind. What had once been a mere glimmer now stretched a precipice of ruby. Gone was the void, and the cold distance between them.

Eagerly, Skippii let go of the ledge–abandoned his halo's grasp–and fell into the gem.

The fall was short, the landing solid. All the earth opened up beneath him–laden with coals–bursting with power awaiting his command. His mind stretched across the skin of the earth for miles in every direction. It felt like he was being torn apart, flayed and stretched over a tanning rack, only there was no pain. Yet, his primal mind paled. A rush of panic sharply reminded him of his mortal body.

Skippii breathed, withdrawing from the power, returning to the sensations of his flesh. His head fizzled with energy, dizzying and confusing his thoughts. He breathed through it, gently probing his core. At the centre of the halo was a bright pupil–the gem had remained–and in its grasp, the expanse of earth beneath him.

"I think I've got it," he breathed, careful not to move a muscle.

"Now? Really?" Cliae said. "I didn't feel anything. No ground tremors."

"It's big. Powerful. I'm standing on it. I didn't fall." He grinned. "It's mine."

"Think you're ready to try out an evocation?"

"Seismic Quake," he said. "It seems a bit premature to name an ability which I only used once, without meaning to at all. What if I can't recreate it?"

"It gives you something to aim for," Cliae said, adopting a stern tone at odds with their demeanour. "That's the purpose of the ordinatio–order out of chaos. Here is a tool which we know works in the field of battle, so let us forge it and practice wielding it."

"Yes master," he joked, but then a thought occurred to him. "Did your father say anything about instability in magia? Is it common in other magus? Oh… I say other magus. I mean in Pantheon magus. I'm not sure what I am."

"Magus is a general term," Cliae shrugged. "Wielder of magia. We can call you that. As for my father's work… I do remember one client who struggled with control: A patron of Chrysaetos–I mentioned him the other day."

Cliae set aside their wax tablet and gazed upwards, as though searching the memory's details in the stars. "The key to a strong invocation is twofold: The magus must have an devout and unwavering connection to their acheron, and secondly, the application of their invocation must be align with the deity's convictions. For instance, it wouldn't be a good idea to call upon Erymenes to unmake a golden breastplate for it to be minted into coins. That would anger the great Fabricator, who favours items crafted with practical purpose and use to them. The invocation may work, but a magus' connection to their acheron would fray. They are always working on borrowed magia–earned favour.

"You, however…" Cliae looked him deep in the eye. "You have the liberty to decide."

"Still, if I lose control, the evocation doesn't flitter out. It carries on and burns me up with it."

Cliae nodded. "All the more reason to master it swiftly."

Skippii sighed. "You're right. Get back then. I'll see what I can do with this new control."

Planting his feet in the stream's waters, Skippii drew power from the earth. With an inhale, he drew in magia from the source deep underground. Holding his breath, he felt the heat swim inside him, alighting his core: the golden halo and burnished gem at its centre. Like mixing dye with water, the magia changed as it was contained within him–calming, but not growing cold–becoming his to control. Rather than allow it to wash over him and form flames, he pressed it downwards, reaching underground.

With an exhale, he felt the earth beneath him awake. His magia rushed between hidden fissures and tunnels underground, a network of arteries and muscles and limbs. Steam rose from the river like a cloud. The earth rumbled with power–thrumming at his fingertips. He only had to command it and the earth would split. However, just as the vapour obscured his vision, his eyes were drawn to the black shade on the hillside above.

Cautiously, he contained the pressure and spread it outwards, sensing his magia seep into the earth. The gem at the centre of his core grew brighter–a solid rock in his chest. Gone was the sensation of falling; he stood on solid ground, a boulder into which magia poured. With an exhale, he spread his aura into the earth, outstretching fingers of magia. How much could he hold? How deep could his magia go?

Tensing his abdomen, he pressed on. The ground shook beneath him, awaiting his command to explode. But he contained the impulse. The strain on his body worsened. Clenching his jaw, he spread the magia almost beyond his grasp. Beneath him, the rock turned to coals. Dizzy and dehydrated, he held on. Just one more second… One more metre of expansion…

With a gasp, Skippii recoiled his magia. It felt like hauling a net from the seafloor. His ears popped as his vision stabilised and he swayed. The mists cleared on a brisk twilight wind. Skippii knelt and drank thirstily from the stream as Cliae returned from a safe distance.

"How was it?" Cliae asked.

"Tough," he panted. "I can feel everything under me. It's…" Skippii wet his lips. "It's a whole new power. Not like fire. But I…" Once again, his eyes drifted towards the hilltop. "I don't want to go all-out. I think, if I can train myself to contain it… to not create an evocation, then that should be the priority."

"Hmm," Cliae mused. "If you think it's best. Tell me, were there voices? A sense of communion, or the presence of something within the earth?"

Skippii shook his head. "Nope. I'm almost glad." He scowled. It was a new feeling.

"Glad?"

"That this isn't tied to the Pantheon. That bunch of zealots in the Coven, they can't separate their minds from the will of Kylin. If this power is mine, I can do with it what I want."

"Whatever the Imperator wants."

"Yeah, well. That goes without saying."

Cliae smiled softly, and Skippii suddenly realised how hard he would have found it all if the slave hadn't been there for him.

"Once more," he said, eager to work. "I won't spread as far. I'll try and contain it."

Cliae retreated up the streambank as while Skippii worked his essence into the ground. With guiding breaths, he kneaded his magia into the earth, drawing it back and sending it forth in ripples. By keeping a steady rhythm, he built the energy up, not needing to exert himself with brute force.

Back and forth, the ripples formed small waves as the earth shook with power. But it did not tear. At the centre of his core, the gem glowed ruby. He had only to expulse that amassed energy into the ground and it would crack asunder. But he stayed his mind–refusing the allure–and focussed on a calming breath. Finally, the waves subsided to a slow, hot slush.

Cliae clapped, clearing the silent night air. "That's better than last time. You made it to one-hundred and thirty count."

"You were counting?"

"I was."

"Sure you didn't just count quicker this time?"

Cliae smiled and shook their head. "I have a system."

"Ohh," Skippii said. "You have a system? Very fancy. I should be paying you for all of this, really. All the knowledge you possess. You could be a professional."

Cliae grimaced–a sort of cynical smile.

"You've got a bad deal," Skippii said.

"You're telling me," they said, picking at the grey cloth of their toga.

"But in honestle, after all the new clothes and armour I've had to buy, I'm broke. I haven't earned a single coin. If it keeps going this way, I'll be fighting the whole campaign for free."

"Or fighting for a warm meal and tent above your head," Cliae said. "Like me."