Runeblade

They tore across the ground, racing through a jungle painted in miniature. Each tree still towered up a hundred-fifty longstrides or more, but they were clustered tightly — only a bare hundred strides between each trunk.

The undergrowth was similarly stunted. Closely clustered and battling for dominance, the young trees drowned the jungle floor in gloom — only the hardy grasses and knee-high wide leafed brush that grew near the trunks of the trees' fully grown parents thrived.

Kaius grinned as he looked at their surroundings. It was perfect. Old Thousand Eyes might still have room to maneuver, but with its wingspan being a full third of the widest gaps between trees, it would be far less able to build up the speed it used so effectively.

Nor would it be able to flee from retaliation — the canopy was low enough that the bastard would be in range of his Stormlash, let alone Kenva and Ianmus's reach!

"We make our stand here!" Kaius called as they approached a particularly dense patch of trees — every stride counted. It was only a third of the way into the copse of young growth, but Kaius wanted to steer clear of the fallen trunk at its centre. This way they would have room to manoeuvre without being boxed in by a natural wall.

They spread out — each sticking close to a tree they could use as cover, while still being close enough to assist if need be. Porkchop paired up with Ianmus — his brother had no appreciable ranged abilities of his own, and even with Starlit Alacrity their mage was by far the most vulnerable of their party.

He and Kenva at least had the mobility to dodge.

"When do you think it will come?" Ianmus called across the gap between trunks.

"Soon, I hope — just be ready."

Old Thousand Eyes had healed by the time they'd entered this patch of the jungle. It had been obvious from the way its flight had returned to its prior speed and agility. The recovery had been quick, but Kaius thought it was most likely a simple result of its high Vitality rather than a Skill derived boost.

At least, he hoped it was. Vitality would only increase the speed of its recovery — it would do nothing for the efficiency or strength of its Health like his own Lesser Regeneration.

Still, the Champion maintained its distance — regenerating its pools, no doubt. Something that wouldn't take it long. Kaius had seen the fragility of the beast for himself. Low Constitution meant a small pool — its sizable regeneration would top it off quickly.

It had been nearly a quarter hour since it had finished its recovery, and as devastating as their assault had been, he doubted they would have drained it dry. It might have already filled its pools, and was cutting its way between the trunks to find them.

Kaius breathed out slowly, clenching and unclenching his fists. It felt unnatural to have his blade sheathed in the middle of a fight, but until they grounded the Champion it was better that he was able to cast with each hand.

A shrill scream of rage tore straight through the canopy, coming from back the way they had come. Old Thousand Eyes was back on the hunt.

It burst into view a moment later, banking and turning as it wove through the trees. It was still fast, but far slower than the blitzing strafing runs it had been able to pull off out in the open — their hopes had been realised.

Mana glowed within the Champion's chest — it screamed, releasing a cutting arc of force that raced straight for Kenva.

She dove behind her tree, a wave of splinters pelting her back. Kaius watched as she drew an arrow and fired as Old Thousand Eyes flew past her position.

It sank home, shattering in the beast's flank. Snarling furiously, the Champion banked — forced to slow itself as it tried to put distance between itself and Kenva. Kaius unleashed his own assault, two Nails sailing from his hands as it drew close to his position.

One missed, the other cutting a hole through one of its back wings.

Kaius cared little for the fumble — he felt like screaming in joy! Two successful attacks, without any of them being the worse for wear, it was working!

His expectations were tempered as a rapid boil of magical potency was unleashed as a hazy beam from the Champion's maw — sonic force clipping his shoulder. It sunk straight through his armour, blinding heat wracking his body as his muscles were pulped.

Kaius clenched his jaw as Rapid Adaptation helped him to push through the pain, throwing himself back into cover.

Pulling away, Old Thousand Eyes returned a few minutes later, throwing skill after skill at them. They punished each one, festering the beast with a dozen agonising wounds. It was still slow, and for every injury they were dealt one of their own.

To Kaius's chagrin, the Champion categorically refused to dive at them — clearly unwilling to risk a repeat of their earlier ambush. It stayed far from him in particular, out of range of a Lash that would have been sure to bring it down in the tight confines.

The pace of the fight weighed on Kaius like a stone. They'd managed to avoid a one sided beatdown, but they were still playing to the beast's strengths — it still had far too much space and time to recover.

It wasn't fresh — its own aggression ensured that much, but progress was slow. That was dangerous, it left far too much space for things to go wrong.

"Kaius! Ianmus has an idea!"

….

"Are you sure, mageling? You'll be putting yourself in grave danger — we're barely avoiding the Champion's attacks as it is. Channelling something like that will take everything you have."

Ianmus nodded resolutely, tightening his grip on his staff. He must — even now that they were punishing the Champion, they needed something decisive.

He knew the beast could sense mana — was agile enough that it used the crescendo of his channelled magic to anticipate and dodge his spells. A simple overcharged beam wouldn't suffice, he'd have to push the limits of his shaping to make something the beast couldn't dodge. The Champion had proven too damned adept at reading his mana flows — dodging right before he cast with startling frequency.

Not to mention he would need to somehow survive the beast's ire when it noticed the level of energy he was wielding.

A shrill scream echoed through the jungle as Old Thousand Eyes swooped past them. Porkchop shoved him flat into the trunk of the tree they hid behind, shielding him from two arcing blades of force it had thrown their way.

"I must, Porkchop — we'll only be worn down if I do not."

Porkchop grumbled, stepping back to free him, "Fine. I'll do my best to keep you breathing, but be careful — you need to at least keep enough awareness to run, alright?"

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He could manage that — it would slow his progress, but it wasn't like he'd be able to maintain such a complicated working with a hole in his chest anyway.

"We're ready. I've told Kaius and Kenva — they're going to try to keep the heat off of us."

Nodding to his companion, Ianmus downed the strongest mana potion he had — enough to refill his pool completely.

**Ding! You have imbibed a Tonic (Rare, Tier I): Mana-drenched Wine**

It was a bit of a waste — he only had the one of such magnitude, and it could have restored another five-hundred if he'd been efficient. The spell he planned really would take everything he had, though.

A sickle of light — one as dense and wide as he could make it, empowered by all of his metamagics. Hyper-charged Spell, Armour Shredding Spells, and Light Weaving. It boggled the mind to think, but would eight-thousand mana even be enough?

It would have to be.

Ianmus reached into his center and latched onto his mana with an iron grip. He pulled, simultaneously reaching for the store he held in his eon stone.

Mana roared through his circuits at a rate he had never before dared. The spiritual channels that ran through his flesh burned under the weight of the flow as power buckled under his grip. It felt like his blood had been transmuted into acid — his very being rebelling against being forced to expend itself so fully and quickly.

Empowered and focused, his Glass Mind kicked in, bending itself completely to the sole task of stabilising his channels.

No matter the outcome of this spell, he would be feeling the backlash of manaburn for a day, at least. The fact that his stats had grown enough that he would likely remain conscious was a mixed blessing. On one hand, it was the only reason he dared to attempt such a weaving. On the other, it meant that he would get to feel every agonising spasm in his overburdened circuits.

A torrent of solar mana poured down his staff, coalescing in a dense cloud that quickly grew to be three strides across. His casting focus only helped his predicament slightly — the amount of stability it could impart upon his mana was like trying to quell a forest fire with a team of men with buckets.

The mana grew denser by the second, illuminating him with the potency of his mysticism.

It was a signal fire that drew the ire of Old Thousand Eyes. Shrieking in fury, the bat swooped into a hairpin turn, racing straight towards him to end the growing threat.

Ianmus frowned, and lunged around the tree — already starting to weave his spell. With his focus split, the condensed solar mana pulsed, threatening to explode out of his grip.

Paling at the sudden demands of his spell, he barely noticed as Porkchop threw himself into the path of a sonic beam — one of his Shardwalls shattered wholesale on a direct hit from the powerful attack.

He'd already gathered more than two thousand mana — if runaway destabilisation occured, he'd be lucky to survive the explosion that would follow.

It still wasn't enough — not with the added cost of his metamagics imbueing his mana with additional intent. Yet his mind already quaked as he spun threads out of the diffuse cloud of mana, steadily weaving them into the knotted shape of his spell.

The weight of his ambition fell upon his shoulders — unless he changed something, the spell would never stabilise. He simply lacked the Willpower to control such a volume of power and give each of his metamagics the focus they required, let alone dodge at the same time.

It was too unstable — too violent and unconstrained.

He needed his sigil. Now, before the additional strain would be impossible to bear.

Half-aware of his surroundings, Ianmus sprinted across the jungle, following the urging of a voice in his head he only half-heard. A mountain clad in jade slapped him to the side.

He slammed into the dirt, a sharp spike of agony crushed to the bottom of his mind. Scrambling to his feet Ianmus drew yet another thread from his pool.

A ring of layered sacred geometry grew around the edges of his gathered mana as sweat poured down his brow. Every handspan of its length felt like trying to draw blood from a stone, the half finished sigil straining as it attempted to contain the ever growing maelstrom in its centre.

He was running again, a shower of dirt pelting his back. Ianmus barely noticed — a single moment of wavering attention would be enough for it all to collapse.

Under the pressure of his half-formed spell, the weaknesses in his sigil shone — literally. Every misalignment and weak point in his design lit up with golden light as diffuse mana escaped its containment.

Gritting his teeth, Ianmus held his spell steady as he corrected his sigil moment by moment — tweaking every junction and tessellation until they dulled to a consistent gold. Finally, finally the sigil snapped in place — stable.

It still wasn't enough — the sigil still drew on his mana to sustain itself, still required active focus to be maintained.

There was only one thing he had left to try. Soul-infusion.

If he failed, if the spell collapsed with a portion of his very soul contained within it…mana burn would be the least of his issues.

He couldn't afford to not do it. It was the only way this would work.

Oh, how nice it would be to wallow in mediocrity — to rely solely on the system created weavings, with none of the complications that might arise from the wielding of true magic.

Ianmus grinned. Who was he kidding, he hadn't felt this alive in years.

Merciless and swift, he plunged his Will into his soul-space and all but ripped a thread of soul-fire free. He gasped, feeling like someone had dragged a knife across his heart.

There was no time to be gentle, no matter how much it burned.

His face twisted into a grimace as he spared what little focus he could to infuse a thread of his purest essence into his sigil, his mana circuits quaking as burning fire spread through their already over-stressed channels.

Ianmus let out a hoarse gasp, barely aware of the battle that raged around him as he pushed. Soul-fire crossed the final stretch, infused mana joining the circular construct that surrounded his spell.

His sigil pulsed — drinking in the energy with unreserved hunger. More.

More.

Ianmus cried out, feeling his very essence roar into the ring of magic. Fear fluttered in his chest. Had he made a mistake? The drain was increasing. Let alone losing his grip on the titanic storm of mana that roiled above his staff, he could feel the fire of his very soul gutting. A flicker of icy death that chilled him from the inside out.

He martialed himself, ready to cut off the flow at the source.

Only for the flow to cease in an instant — his sigil crackled, the golden lines of his mana shimmering, throwing off light that warmed his face.

It was light, he realised with a start. The sigil had materialised — clearly visible, even without his mana sight!

In the same instant, the pressure on his mind dropped, his gathered mana growing as calm and obedient as a well-trained hound.

A ding sounded in his mind, and Ianmus let out a howling laugh. He didn't dare to check the notification, not with his spell only half finished.

Still, there were very few things it could be. He'd done it — discovered something new.