12 Miles Below

Warlocks had three levels of skill, each with names and a whole slew of politics behind them, thankfully Hexis skipped the politics parts.

Apprentices and other novices who’d studied their numbers and equations like good little peons for a few years would be inducted into the coveted Sigilmancy - being told which equations were actually occult fractals, and how to inscribe them into plates, weapons, and everything that made warlocks warlocks.

They’d be the crickets and lentils of the warlock guild, the beating heart that kept the bills paid and the good food flowing. The ones who actually forged up occult weapons, shields, and other trinkets that were sold to fund everything.

Only the ones who’d shown real talent and promise would be inducted into the next ranks of a high warlock and taught the arts of Psycomancy.

It wasn’t a high kept secret, as Hexis said, just the name alone would give initiates a good idea of what the whole thing was about. And there really wasn’t some trick to it either, just visualize the equations.

Hexis warned me to start with the color fractal for my first few attempts - imagine trying the fractal of heat, right inside the brain. Easy way to cook oneself off the map. A shield fractal would also slice right through the skull. Lot that could go wrong if the wrong fractal was given life.

He didn’t give me strong odds of getting it. "Apprentice, if you come back next month knowing how to mind weave the Occult, I will eat some of those insects you surface dwellers so fond of." He said, frowning at the thought, stirring the tea in his cup. "It is an open secret among the initiates for a reason. Time and practice will be the gates that bar your passage. There are no shortcuts. Hard work, and daily practice with mathematics is the only path forward. What we can do is guide you on the fastest possible path, given your skills."

He frowned further when he found his tea cold. "The final level of spellcasting is called Aethermancy." A flick of his hand and heat flared around his hands, rapidly warming the cup. "No doubt you can already guess what that is. All centered around the forbidden fractal."

As he explained further, it was forbidden not just because it had some powerful cheats that came with it and the top brass wanted to hog power. But also because that’s what the machines were sniffing around for.

Hexis and the warlocks had no way of knowing this, but to Relinquished the soul fractal was an actual danger. So long as there weren’t soul fractals running around, the threat and power of the Occult remained within the physical world. Which she didn’t feel personally threatened by at all.

Sure, maybe an army or ten of her minions might get stomped by a particularly annoying sect of humans who had more occult powers than regular, but they’d be buried eventually with enough metal thrown at them. She was twelve entire miles underground, past thousands of physical barriers. It would take those humans years to cut a path to wherever she hid, and she could easily move herself around.

But pit that same sect with powers of a soul fractal, they could now swim around in the digital ocean - and thus be much closer to attacking her personally. That’s my guess as to why the soul fractals had to go. And any occultists who showed up with some ideas about them had to be stomped out, along with anything that could speak the same language within three hundred miles. Plus their dogs, cats, chickens, crickets and weasels too, for good measure.

Hexis didn't know this part of history, as much as I probed around. Warlocks just learned early on from how every other occult tradition kept getting eradicated right at the height of their power. And especially how any occult cult based off discovering the soul fractal within armors always died out within the year. They quickly put together one and one on what called the machines down on them.

That’s why Hexis called it the forbidden fractal. It quite literally was exactly that - forbidden to be used in almost every situation, and only taught to grand warlocks.

I had about three hundred more questions, but one gaudy finger got lifted up when he told me; “We shall discuss more of the forbidden fractal and Aethermancy in due time, apprentice. You have hardly even learned Sigilmancy, let alone Psychomancy. Learn those first, and then we will have words.”

And that was that. According to him, I’d started outright at the end-game and now I had to rebuild the fundamentals.

In reality his butler had walked in with boxes of tea leaves to sample, and Hexis shooed me away for more important things of life. As he said, “Everyone has a hobby, apprentice. I recommend you choose one that soothes your mind and stress. You'll live longer for it.”

I'd already memorized all four equations of the color fractal before I walked out that door, and how the pattern mapped out too. Didn't do anything to my head, forehead, eyes, mouth or face - all of which would have been expected if it worked. So I was still right in the same place all those initiates were stuck in too. Knowing about it, and not having a clue how to make it work.

I had a feeling it was tied to the soul-sight. If I really spent enough time thinking and studying mathematics, I would become so familiar with those concepts that I would start to recognize them directly as concepts. Like how Kidra could recognize combat, or other knights could recognize what they specialized in too.

He hadn’t been lying, it was just time spent that I lacked.

Lot to think about on the way to Winterscar grounds. Hardly even noticed when Shadowsong nodded to Father and peeled off to return to his own estate, leaving the Winterscars to do Winterscar things on their own.

Once more it was just Father and I walking back, mulling over what was learned. What changed was that Father stopped me at the courtyard before I made my way back into my little weasel nest.

The only warning I got was from Cathida. “Eyes up deary, I sense you’re about to get a beatdown.”

“What?”

“Trainer’s intuition.” She said. “Sometimes, you can just taste violence in the air.”

"You can't taste." I reminded her.

“Draw your blade.” A much colder voice said behind me, as the courtyard around me emptied out.

Hexis had said I should get a hobby, fighting was not on my top ten however.

“Is there something in particular you want to test out or train, Father?” I asked him.

“You will fight to defeat me.” He said. “Use everything you have.”

I’d never beaten him. Not once, even with Wrath fighting at my side with me. I turned around and just stared him down.

“Draw the blade, or fight unarmed. It matters not to me.” He said, taking my silence as an answer.

“I'll be smug about this later. Squirelings telling me I can't taste anymore. Peh.” Cathida said. “Good luck deary, though I think even the sunshine wouldn't carry enough luck.”

I wasn’t sure what he was aiming for, but gave a shrug, drew my occult blade and armguard, then took my best ready stance. The armguard was basically treated like a side dagger as far as I could pair it with the combat schools. I couldn’t flip it around in my palm or execute some attacks like stabs with it, but I could certainly do much better defense work and swipes with that. And it was ruthless to shields if they hit. Too ruthless to actually train with anywhere in real life.

“Ready.” I said, and then promptly got my boots shoved down my throat exactly like I thought would happen.

Fight was over in under a minute, and it only went that long because I tapped into just about every last cheat I had on hand, minus throwing dirt in his eyes. I’d have done that too if I thought it could help.

Didn’t matter to a combat prodigy like him, he could easily adapt. The new lighting style school of combat should have been equally useless, given that the advantage it abused was being stupidly faster than the enemy. And in this case it was the other way around, with Father’s overclocking ability.

If he was able to overclock. Here’s why I lasted a full minute - The occult rippled around me, and I threw out ghosts at him first thing I could. Each opening a stream of fire from both hands in just about every direction. In seconds the entire courtyard’s air was nearly superheated. That didn’t matter to me, armor wasn’t overclocking by default and it could withstand temperatures like this so long as it wasn’t directly under a giant stream of fire. And maybe even then it might just be annoyed.

Father’s shell could also easily survive this temperature. Reason I still bothered is that it robbed him of reliable overclocking. Which put our speed back to somewhat comparable. Admin command let me kick some of the default settings out the window, including maximum speed thresholds within human tolerances. So long as I remained limp inside Journey and commanded the armor using the Winterblossom technique, I could move exactly as fast as I could think.

I lunged at him next following the new school of combat, which he expected and moved to counter. I abandoned that move halfway, kicking off the side of the ground, rolling away into the streams of fire, and letting four occult ghosts flowing underground leap up out the ground and swing their armguard shields right at his body.

He stabbed three in rapid succession, right through the open grids on their shields and into the fragile occult wisp of air.

That was… a design flaw in my armguard I hadn’t considered. Occult blades weren’t used to stab people except for killing blows, once shields were down. A stab against a shield did practically nothing, given the surface area at a point. So I had designed this shield to block swiping attacks only. Seemed like such an obvious blind spot to not think about.

With a thin blade going right in between the waffle patterns, the ghosts puffed out of existence. He only had to dodge the actual swing of the last one, which he beheaded the moment after he stepped past the attack, immediately leaping straight at me.

Visual spectrum might be filled with flame and smoke everywhere, but Father was watching the fight through the soul sight like I was, he didn’t need to see me to find me.

The moment he closed rank, I cast a few dozen half-formed arms all swinging occult blades at him, more to keep him away from me than any real plan. That kept him at bay.

I’d tapped into a lot of occult ghosts all at once. A few to burn the area around me. Four to dive underground and flow up to his feet. A few dozen half-formed hands. It all added up.

Pretty soon, I couldn’t cast more than three hands and keep moving around. That’s when he promptly cut at every weak point, until my shields flared out and hit zero. His blade flashed a small nick right past my throat guard, then froze right there, making it clear I would have been stabbed and killed if this had been a real fight.

“Enough.” He said, taking a step back into the flames, now fading away. All that was left behind was a bunch of smoke being ventilated away, a seriously ruined courtyard and me collapsed on the ground trying to nurse my headache.

“You fought without an ounce of resolve.” He said. “You are unfit to journey underground.”

I felt my blood grow cold at that, adrenaline spiking out, head instantly clearing out the headache from the cocktail combination coursing through my veins. “What?” I asked.

“Abraxas will arrive in two months. I will contact it before you can. To’Wrathh will travel with me. And you will remain with the clan as they migrate. That will be the last time you see her, say your farewell and stay behind.”

“You can’t do that.” I hissed, getting back on my feet.

“I can. And I will.” He said. “You cannot stop me. You lack the strength.”

“Get bent over scrap, it’s the other way around - you think you could stop me from following behind? That I’d just sit down and let you dictate where and what I fight for? Those days are over, Father.”

Father didn’t seem to be affected at all, eyes cold as he stalked forward. Arms reached down and there was absolutely nothing I could do to swat him away as he yanked me up and off my feet, armor and all. “Captain Sagrius will keep you here at my order. He has no care for your personal desires, boy. Only your safety. Hate him, and me, all you wish.”

The thought went through my head like a blade. Because Father was right. The captain who I’d known before would have allowed it. Gods, he'd have come with me on a death journey. He’d done that before already, trusting I couldn’t just die in a corner somewhere. That I had a destiny out there to complete.

The Sagrius that had returned was changed. Merged with the armor’s spirit. An armor wouldn’t care about the user’s happiness or goals. Only their safety. That singular purpose would make Sagrius see Father’s proposal as acceptable.

Avalis’s face stared me down, but those eyes held an unyielding intensity that the old Feather lacked. “The other Winterscar knights will kneel behind, or I will deal with them. Personally. Your sister will never oppose a plan that leaves you away from danger. You have no allies.”

“I’m more than the House.” I spat back, “Shadowsong would back me up. Atius himself isn’t going to allow this. You’ll start a civil war. And Wrath won’t allow it either.”

“Lord Atius does what is needed, he will see reason or I will force a choice he cannot refuse. To’Wrathh will obey, if only to keep you safe. The girl is too soft. You know this.” He said. “Shadowsong already accepted. He owes you a life-debt, and if you cannot prove capable of survival underground, letting you go would be letting you die. He would have been honor bound to go in your place if you were forced to an expedition this dangerous.”

“I-I… you…” For once in my life I had nothing witty to say, no words at all. If felt more like I’d been betrayed by my own family, by the people I thought I could trust.

Then logic slammed into my head and I saw everything for what it was. “If… you said "if" I can’t prove capable of survival.” I hissed out. “That was your words.”

He nodded. “They are.”

“What is proof enough for you?”

I already knew what he would say. Why he’d started a fight with me here, even knowing the results already.

“Defeat me.”

Said as if it were the simplest thing in the world. Defeat Father. Defeat fucking Tenisent Winterscar Prime himself, now outright immortal, ten times stronger and faster, commanding all the powers of a Feather - and the occult. He stared down at me like an unbeatable mountain. “Bring every weapon you have. Every trick your mind can think of. I care not how you do it, boy. You have limits that must be overcome. Defeat me in singular combat, prove you have the strength to match a Feather - and I will let you come. Fail, and you will remain behind.

You have two months.”