Rising Kite - A story from the world of HWFWM

Undead were great. Not conceptually or morally, of course, the practice being a vile perversion of both body and life. But as enemies, they were great. Their often numerous but relatively simple nature, along with allowing for an easy moral stance to take when facing them, left them in just the right spot for Dragonfly to enjoy as she was swinging her conjured greataxe consisting of solid flames through a pair of zombies.

From the look of the twitchy piles of aggressive decomposition, these particular ones had once been warriors of the enemy sect now repurposed to fight for them again. Dragonfly idly wondered if they had been given a choice or not in the matter, but the swelling power within her soon pulled her back into the moment as her inner glow continued to intensify.

The group was currently fighting near one of the places suspected to house a ritual circle, the first one they had managed to locate in their sweeps a few days in. From the resistance they were facing, at least something had to be here. Among the trees, adventurers fought the undead and their priests, and she thought she glimpsed a swarm of rats pursuing a retreating robed figure while an intense firefight where glass shards and necrotic bolts tore through the air was raging further off.

She and the rest of the iron-rankers were engaged in protecting Braid where he worked on bringing down the defensive formations, keeping the more numerous iron-ranked undead off him as his threads did their thing. Dragonfly was happy to leave the arcane details to Braid and the others. In the end, her path had always been one of strength and conquering her foes through conflict.

But that didn’t mean Dragonfly didn’t think. Take her childhood dream for an example. She knew that annihilating all the monsters of the world was impossible, that the beasts were a result of the ambient magic manifesting along with a motive spirit and as part of the natural cycle of the world as her. But she also thought that the drive and the ambition driving that dream was worthwhile. That as many people as possible should be protected from the loss she had suffered along with so many others.

So Dragonfly thought and fought on, a bit of pride and fierce joy in how far she had come so far, spurred on by the energetic magical flaming fury building inside her with each second and every glancing strike of her opponents. Her second ability to hit bronze-rank, it had now started to passively increase her power and speed along with the increases being hit provided.

It wasn’t anger per se, even though the 'feel' of the power implicated it, but energy. Her breaths felt like fire without pain, the energy needing to be spent. So she moved faster and hit harder, and for every moment she simply felt like she was more.

As yet another zombie fell before her, the swathe of flame bathing the ground behind the falling corpse, she found herself standing in front of a huge flesh construct of multiple bodies fused together which emitted the flat aura of a bronze-ranked undead. There were no visible stitches, it was that the flesh seemed to have been sealed and joined with some malevolent ideas behind it. A trio of legs built from several humanoid limbs “woven” together supported a trio of elongated torsos, each with one head and a pair of clawed arms. She thought she saw something dark and liquid-looking in the hollow sockets.

“Dragonfly, do you need assistance?” Kite asked from where he was currently actively intercepting yet more of the sneaky spirits which these particular Undeath clergy members seemed to enjoy interspersing with their forces for sneak attacks, staff and spear taking turns materializing to strike at foes both near and far.

“Oh no, this one is will be a perfect stepping-stone for my path!” she answered, already in motion. She did have time to give him a ferocious grin and idly note that his butt still looked cute even when clad in the armor before turning her full focus back to the thing in front of her. Just before she leapt to the attack, she unleashed another of her tricks she was still practicing with as she threw the axe ahead of her. It became almost like a wheel of flames which cut and seared the interposed arms of the monstrosity. And remained there, pushing against its defenses as she leapt towards her foe, having drawn a second, simpler axe from her dimensional pouch.

It was a result of her awakening stone of animation and the power it had brought, which she had trained most diligently with during the many months since she got it. Instead of just making accurate throws and calling the weapon back, she could now animate the axe and control it separately within a certain range. As such, she had been practicing ever harder to overcome that challenge, getting closer to what mastery she could manage before her spirit attribute overcame the threshold to bronze-rank.

The impact of her leaping attack was enough to shear through the intervening limb of the abomination where her fiery weapon had already weakened the appendage, her speed and power already having passed into the realm of bronze rank from the earlier battle. This boosted speed was what allowed her to quickly shift her weight against one of the thing’s torsos and spring away just before the remaining five arms came for her, seeking to sunder her flesh.

Avoiding the bulk of the strikes, she still received a glancing blow which sent her flying to the ground and bouncing a few times, each impact dealing less damage than the one which came before while further sparking the power inside her. Using the last bounce to flip to her feet among the shambling enemies, she flicked some stray, pink curls away from her face and grinned. Ready to throw herself into the fray once more.

She was Dragonfly over Sun’s Reflection, and each hit only made her path stronger. One day, it would be her who was reflected in the lands below.

The thin sword of ice hummed slightly as it passed through the air, armor and enemy throat faster than a normal-ranker would be able to follow, the intense chill of the weapon causing the blood to spray out of the wound like a flurry of red snow rather than a gout of liquid.

Frost among Morning Dew let the blade continue its sideways arc, slicing into one of the silver-ranked undead their enemies had employed in limited numbers throughout this conflict. The bone-clad wraith was already covered in frost and moving slow enough that even a bronze-ranker would be able to dodge it with relative ease, having remained in combat with mistress Dew for a little while.

She had faced similar foes several times now, and had learned that she could handle them rather easily after an initial aggressive flurry to build up her frost afflictions which made them both slow and more vulnerable, before setting off in search of other targets. This one had pursued her over the arctic field which formed as she fought, accumulating more of the affliction and damage.

“They really should take the time to make you smarter the next time around.” she told the unspeaking wraith, blue lips curving up in a smile as she deemed it ready to be finished off. She made a dismissive flick of her head, long silver hair trailing the motion, as she chanted a spell.

“Succumb to the march of the everfrost.”

With a snapping sound, the frost coating suddenly encompassed the whole undead in the blink of an eye, the being frozen still like a statue even as she thought she could see the semi-liquid spirit inside it squirming within its icy bone prison. As mistress Dew soon expected company, she did not tarry in executing the final part of the sequence.

Stretching her arms upward and out, fingers spread wide, ten three-meter long swords of gleaming ice formed in a circle above her foe, their tips pointed diagonally inward. Smile still playing over her blue lips, she brought her arms down in a dramatic gesture. And with them, the swords fell inwards, followed by a screeching and shattering cacophony as the ice blades skewered their target before they started shattering and fusing together, leaving only a spiky arctic monument behind to gleam in the setting sun.

As her expected company seemed to be late, mistress Dew took the time to look out over the battlefield, where her icy domain reached outward over a hundred meters around her by this point. All around, the adventurers kept their enemies at bay, her allies unhindered by the ice and cold ever since her abilities had reached silver rank. Not that Dew had allies to fight with that often, but in this case it sure was useful. And it made her one of the adventure society’s most useful defensive warriors, a fact she recognized even though it irked her that she wasn’t sent to hunt them down behind their lines.

“Still, any moment now should have one of them-” she thought, a presence interrupting the thought as if on cue and sending her smile plummeting to a frosty line.

“You again? Didn’t they have anyone better to spare?” she asked loudly as a dozen illusions sprung into existence around her.

They all looked like simple sect warriors from their enemies, each crafted with surprisingly delicate care and attention to detail. Even their movements were incredibly lifelike and differed from one another as they closed in on mistress Dew as one. And Dew knew better than to underestimate them, because she had faced this particular trickster before.

“I tire of you and your plays of light and dolls.” Dew stated calmly even as she conjured a twin-bladed sword into a spinning slash to ward off the closing circle of assailants. Most of the illusions were harmlessly dispersed while she felt something break inside a few of them, releasing disorienting pulses of magic. Dew’s foe had so far fought by conjuring illusions, all of them at least a little tangible but some formed around conjured frameworks which gave them increased power and resilience as well as serving as a fulcrum for a slew of other annoying effects. She was still unsure if her true foe sometimes took the place of one of the illusions, but had never actually laid eyes on them.

The mental assault was familiar however, harmlessly washing over her as her mind had already sunk into her Icon of Ice, a special ability resembling a meditative technique which made her mind sharp and unflinching.

“I am wounded, little ice queen. Here I had thought our little dances to be quite pleasant.” a strangely sonorous voice said, emanating from all of the dozen new illusions which formed around her. “It might just be that none deem you worthy enough to do much else than chase your own snowflakes?”

The taunt was as ineffective as the dazing assault had been, mistress Dew’s facade not cracking as their conflict began anew. Her opponent’s illusions dashed and fainted, cooperated and coordinated, often switching places at the last moment or activating coordinated special attacks where several of the illusionary weapons started glowing only for others to actually deliver the potent attacks.

In response, Dew fell into her Way of Relentless Winter as she constantly applied a steady pressure even under such duress. Each blow whipping up small sheets of shimmering crystalline powder snow from the icy landscape below, Dew fought with blades, gauntlets, spears, shields, chakrams, segmented whips, fauchards and a variety of other weapons, conjuring one or more anew as her moves dictated in the strive for the everlasting and inevitable pressure of winter.

“Dance to the steps of phantasmagoria”

As she heard her opponent’s chant, Dew sighed inwardly as she knew from experience what this would bring, already frustrated that even her domain of ice stretching so far around them didn’t allow her to locate her hidden true foe.

The illusions started moving with greater speed and more unpredictable movements as another layer of illusions dropped on top of them, turning them into chaotic blurs of truth and falsehood overlapping. Even this she had been able to fend off in their earlier clashes, but Dew decided on a more forceful approach this time.

“Brought by the northern winds, I welcome the subjugator of autumn.”

A burst of chill winds emanated from her, even affecting the semi-tangible illusions enough to slow their advance. The wind was followed by a snapping sound as Dew was encased in a construct of clear ice similar to a three meter tall statue which looked like a regal, armored androgynous warrior complete with a cape of fine snow and clinking decorative chains and tassels made from fine ice crystals.

Still visible within, Dew fell into her stance once more as the conjured armor around mimicked her graceful motion. Then battle was joined once more, every strike empowered by her new strength and reach. Illusions fell under the onslaught while their strikes which landed started chipping away at the ice juggernaut, their battle decimating the now frozen forest in their vicinity.

As with most battles between silver-rankers, the outcome was rarely swift. Their durability was beyond superhuman, as were their stamina and reserves of mana. Relentless winter and rending ice met illusory lies and deceitful half-truths. As during their two earlier clashes, Dew held on without too much trouble. But where she before hadn’t been able to aim for anything decisive, she started to feel that this might change this time as her revelation of one of her trump cards, the subjugator of autumn, seemed to have pushed her opponent to slip up.

Patiently waiting a few more exchanges and waves of attacks, Dew suddenly shifted, releasing the slender icy greatsword she had been about to swing only to snap around as a long spear instead shot from her hand towards one particular illusion that had started to ever so subtly feel ‘off’ to her senses. Ostensibly, it was no different than the rest which had appeared and disappeared during their battle, but she felt a tiny surge of triumph even through her combat meditation when her spear impaled something tangible.

As the illusion shattered, she saw a man with the most nondescript face she had ever seen, every feature the very definition of blandness, something that shouldn’t be possible in a silver-ranker. He looked at her with wide eyes, his eyes a watered down brown as they met hers through her icy armor and only conveying shock at the sudden turn. In hindsight, Dew would realize the depth of skill and dedication it would have taken for him not to smirk in that moment.

Because just after, a thin short sword slid through the back of her armor, the ice parting like water before stabbing through the back of her head even as the shocked illusion still met Dew’s gaze.

“Every defense is a lie if you look at it from the right direction.” The same sonorous voice stated behind her as all the potential of her ‘decisive’ blow seemed to have been stolen and redirected into her, one of the most potent kinds of defensive abilities which had multiple variations throughout the world.

But before he could continue what was sure to be a monologue, he suddenly froze. Literally. Even faster than his silver-rank reflexes allowed him to react, Dew’s body had frosted over with a thin sheet of ice which traveled up the blade and into his body, covering them both. A perceptive observer could have seen the last remnant of a protective amulet, featuring fire agates, crumble under the creeping ice.

And then her form, along with the conjured armor, shattered as Frost among Morning Dew broke out from a shell of ice, somehow shifting off the sword which had previously pierced her head. Still bleeding from her head, she whirled around and kicked off the crumbling ice construct beneath her as her hand reached out toward her still immobile enemy, snapping a silver-ranked suppression collar around his neck.

All remaining illusions winked out as she bore him to the frozen ground a few meters below, the cracks in the ice encasing him only widening from the impact and his struggles. But Dew knew that the ice of her second trump card, which she had named her Still Statue Reversal, would take a bit more punishment than that before shattering.

The ability was Dew’s last line of defense, a counter similar to that which her foe had attempted to spring onto her. But instead of reflecting damage, it encased her foe in magical ice with a duration and thickness proportional to the damage that was dealt as her inner glacial wellspring was let loose. As of bronze-rank, it also provided a potent damage reduction which had kept her from dying a few times during her career.

“But I have to thank the heavens for the resiliency of silver rank. I probably would not have survived such an injury for long enough to activate it on lower ranks.” she thought as she looked down at her frozen foe, the cracks continuing to widen in response to his struggles. “And I will have to thank them for such a prize. You will provide me with a great boon to my contribution.”

Dew had not expected to actually get to use the silver-ranked suppression collar all of their silver-rankers had been provided with in case a capture was deemed possible, but it had also been the most expedient way to end the fight now that he had been incapacitated for a short duration.

Still, she felt that the old adage ‘better safe than sorry’ held weight, and she repeated her spell from earlier, used on the undead.

“Succumb to the march of the everfrost”

Even more ice encased her foe, and his struggles momentarily seized. With battle still going on in the forests around her, she casually reached down to grab a frozen foot and started walking, dragging her prize after her on her way back toward the adventurer positions and more thorough confinement.

Even injured, she was content, feeling yet another sliver of growth on her path towards the heavens. Still slow, as was expected after long since hitting ‘the wall’ close to the middle of the rank, but she was patient. Had already been patient for a long time.

She was Frost among Morning Dew, and one day her patience would come to an end. And she would once more return south to bring her relentless winter back towards those who had wronged her.

Dancer on the Broken River was concerned as she led her battle-thralls in a fighting retreat, although the concern was not for herself or her situation, but this whole war. Ever since the last meeting, something had been irking her, itching at the back of her mind. Even as she trailed her chains, sending them out to harass and slow her opponents, students of the Victorious Sunset sect who were pursuing them, her mind still felt half distant where she weaved through projectiles and inflicted painful counterattacks, instead trying to grasp the nebulous feeling inside her.

Still, the situation in itself was also troublesome, although more frustrating than concerning. Those spiteful heaven-cursed bastards from the path of pleasure had not shown up where they were to be deployed, instead charging off in search of new euphoria to seek from what enemies they could catch.

Even though River believed in her path and its power, a war was not something even a Hua-Xi essence-user took on alone without at least some nearby allies to even out the pressure and create glorious duels for tempering their strength against one another. The actions of their allies had left them too outnumbered, leading to their retreat through the forest. While they had wounded, they at least hadn’t any true casualties yet.

Three of River’s chains disappeared upwards into the foliage only to come crashing down on a sect initiate who was pressuring one of her thralls. The painful strikes caused the young woman to stagger while another chain yanked at the fallen thrall to drag him along and resume their retreat. They were ultimately a resource to spend, but River would only do so when there was an actual purpose to it or momentum to be seized by the action.

“Screen us.” she told one of the two bronze-ranked thralls currently under her command, the woman twitching slightly at the spike of aura she was conditioned to respond quickly to.

After an expense of mana, the thrall, clad in slate-gray robes like the others, stomped the ground with a quick and monotone chant.

“Erupt, toxic breath of the underworld.”

Several cracks opened in a wide swathe behind them which started spewing up a toxic, obscuring cloud which should at least delay their pursuers for a little while and give them a greater lead. While it did just that, enemies with wind, fire or other powers up to the task started dispersing or disrupting the cloud almost immediately.

River still deemed it enough, and that their pursuers should soon retreat if they knew what was best for them. Which the sect fools rarely did. They were far away from the rest of their allies now, and River’s own side had prepared some unpleasant surprises for those who would draw close to their positions.

While some did pursue them still, calls of challenge echoing through the forests, River was a bit disappointed as a stronger voice cut through the area.

“We shall halt here and return!”

It immediately got some pleading and frustrated responses.

“Inner disciple, they are getting away!”

“Only one more push, honored inner disciple?”

“Surely, we cannot show cowardice in the face of-”

The last voice was interrupted by a ringing slap followed by the thud of a body hitting a tree.

“We shall halt here and return.” The inner disciple stated again. “The grand elders have been very clear on the matter, and I will not lose contribution for your disobedience. Initiate Shrill, carry the fool back. We return.”

“Yes, inner disciple!” the other voices responded in a loud chorus.

River had wished to see them pay for their transgression, but apparently this was a time for surprises, and few of them pleasant.

“Another stone added to my quarry of concerns.” River thought as she had the group slow down while continuing back to regroup. The nagging feeling remained, an itch unscratched.

But she was Dancer on the Broken River, daughter of the grand elder. She would still prove herself, leaving this conflict as but a stepping stone on her path towards the heavens, becoming untouchable while all others were chained beneath her.

Even as Braid worked, he felt his surroundings with his threads. These ones weren’t tangible or even visible to most, but the thinnest of mana threads suffusing his aura. They allowed his spiritual perception to see more, feel more, especially magic. And in the remnants of the battle with the undead, there were still lingering sensations.

Plenty of dark, miasmic patches where the deathly energies had not yet dispersed or where the foul spells of the clergy of Undeath had landed. Where the revenants who had sprung from their corpses had fallen, the energies had a different feeling entirely with remnants of foul divinity causing Braid to retract his aura from those places.

He could also feel the traces of his allies, now keeping watch and searching for anything useful around the ritual circle. Wander was everywhere, as usual, and Braid could also feel the remnants of the iron-rankers, even though their lower rank had them dissipating faster. The cinders of Dragonfly, the piercing determination of Will and the emptier patches from Kite’s nullifications. That boy sure was interesting, and Braid had hopes he could snag him for some work and projects as long as they both got back from this.

And Serene. Her humming notes still permeated the area, causing Braid’s aura threads to vibrate along with it in a most pleasing way. He couldn’t help but be fascinated by her, drawn to her. But those were matters for another time, especially as his work was now done.

“I have the final copy. We can leave now.” he said, rising to his feet. As the others were gathering, Braid took a more active approach. A pulse of mana pulled some of his aura threads into the physical world, his motions guiding them to shoot down into the summoning circle below him, threading their lines in just the right places if his initial assessment was to be trusted.

In his hands, his fingers deftly wove a pattern between his fingers, another mumbled incantation completing the ritual as it began to draw in ambient mana in a controlled flow which then flowed out into certain points of the circle, which began to warp and disrupt under the growing magical pressure inside it before, almost all at once, disintegrating.

Braid let his threads dissipate, satisfied. It had been a quite elegant solution, and something to be improved upon in the future.

“You know, we could have blasted the earth and sundered the circle for the same effect~?” Wander asked him as she appeared by his side, walking from the clearing together.

“And where would be the challenge in that? The art? And we wouldn’t learn anything from it.” Braid sighed in exasperation.

“But blasting is always fun~.” she countered.

“Wander, you don’t even have any powers I would remotely describe as ‘blasting’.”

“You don’t know that! Maybe I’ve been saving a secret or two~.” she winked before disassembling into her swarm state and spreading out around them.

Braid sighed but smiled as she left, feeling the pace of the group pick up as Walker's abilities started taking hold. His mind had already sunk into the familiar cognitive realm of possibilities where he theorized, adding the latest design of the summoning circle to his growing list of magical patterns.

One day, he would have learned them all, unraveling their mysteries. For he was Braid Spun from Honesty, and he would know the patterns of this world so that he could unravel them as well and weave them anew into a tapestry worthy of the heavens.

Jarvan LanCaire, director of the adventure society's Gilded branch, was bored. He knew he should be focused, doing his utmost as their people were off to fight along with their allies. But with so many gone, there was mostly wrangling those that were left into picking up the slack of contracts, and that wasn’t usually his job.

“Journey’s jaunty jugs, why must I be classified as ‘vital personnel’ and be left here.” he muttered, looking at the inactive messenger construct on his table as if it was the offender in question. The jade and steel bird looked back, its glassy eyes unblinking and inanimate.

Rupert’s last message had indicated that the fighting had picked up, and that careful early estimates had it going in their favor. But he had also said that their foes were planning something, and that handling it or not might be the true defining factor.

Jarvan trusted Rupert, and had done so for decades now. Even named two- no three -kids at least partially after him. He knew that his friends would see them through, but still he wished to be there. To feel the very air humming with conflicting auras, swing his gauntlets to disperse his foes, to dodge, leap, chant spells and-

“Excuse me, director. I’ll just leave the materials for the upcoming year's financial report here by the door for you to look at when there is time.” an elderly aide said as he just leaned in through the door, depositing a veritable mountain of papers on a nearby table and then quickly left.

The metaphorical wind left Jarvan’s sails immediately as he stopped to look at the new offender in the room before going over and picking up the huge stack, grumbling all the way back to his desk.

Before diving into the work, he took his time to look out the window. If nothing changed, he would see this view for a long time, with golden leaves swaying like a sea around the city. The bustling streets, colorful murals and often beautiful wooden houses with their curved, tiled roofs.

Sighing, he turned back to his papers, memories of excitement playing in the back of his mind. Those had been good days, albeit dangerous, and they would come again. And he would make sure that his children were ready for them. Because he was Jarvan LanCaire, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for love and family.