Black Magus

Our little show-and-tell concluded with me and my vassals splitting ways. They returned to the Tower for some much-warranted downtime while I remained in the forest for some highly anticipated training. And changing.

Like the formal suit I’d been wearing up until now, the pants resized to a snug fit around my waist and ankles the moment I slipped them on. So too did my boots. But the moment my feet settled into those silky soles, a toasty comfort rose up my legs to blossom in my chest, yet refused to brush off the distant cold I'd grown so comfortable with. Interesting pieces, they were, but with no lava to wade through, I grabbed the gilded sash to wrap it around my waist twice. Then paused; hesitated before I tied so as to inspect the magical mark sprawling across my torso.

It was as it was all those years ago, wherein I first looked upon it. It was as it was across the Empire. On the trains, on the ships, on those volcanic slabs that led to the underground. It was almost as if the darkness, death, and void within had broken through my physical body akin to a fault line; albeit an ornate one. A dark, abyssal scar on my skin began at either side of my hips, rising in an arc along my ribcage to meet at my diaphragm. And from my navel, an abyssal trunk rose to the base of my sternum, wherein it sprouted. Spread into weaving, waving willow branches that reached as high as my collarbones and stretched as wide as my shoulders. Like a great tree standing before the setting sun. Far larger and more noticeable than the majority of other marks out there, I assumed.

With my inspection done, I tied off the sash, tucked my daggers into the fabric, and began training with them in earnest. Immediately, I noticed a fine weight to the weapons as I deftly swung them at my Doppelganger. Executing a short combo before I stepped into the darkness to take a swing at the air above a rotted tree. With the passing of the blade came a ripple in the umbral air. And not much of anything else. Once I returned to the physical plane, however, I saw a deep gash splitting the face of an otherwise healthy tree.

That marked the end of my tests and the beginning of actual training. Martial combat; elemental manipulation and fusion; sorcery and spells; mana skin; all these things and more were used in conjunction during those endless sessions with my darker half, for such seriousness was necessary for the increasingly gruesome deathmatches against Grandpa Lich.

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After a good five or so hours of actual sleep, I emerged from my 'room' a few hours before sundown, granting me just enough time to update the tinkerers before I saw the man upstairs. For there was a problem that needed fixing.

In short, with Toril’s new gear, one of their bills was practically obsolete. On top of that, I was aware of the competition's flaws from the very start. Dire changes needed to be made. Though that wasn’t to say that the situation couldn’t be salvaged. We were only a week in, after all. Thus I went with the easiest method to pass along the information. A blackboard. Or an enchanted equivalent that wrote words of darkness in 3-D space.

The first and simplest change was that they were now to build a single gauntlet or glove for Toril’s right arm but with the same electromagnetic properties as the initial design. It was essentially a Maglock glove fueled by his own magic. A theory Ed proved to be true, thus opening up an entire field of study to delve down. MagiTech. That brought about the need for more changes. More bills. More textbooks. More lessons. For I needed engineers and craftsmen capable of making a wide variety of things. Everything from pocket watches to clocktowers; anything from jewelry to digital art; swords to howitzers; mud huts to arcologies; tribal robes to power armor; wheelbarrows to aircraft carriers. Thus, I deemed it necessary that they be tested on multiple things, multiple times throughout the four years of our stay.

The deadline for Toril’s gauntlets would be the first day of the new year. But so too would there be deadlines for clothes, jewelry, vehicles, watches, and a variety of tools and mechanics both common and industrial. At which time they’d be assessed and a quarter of the tinkerers would be eliminated from the competition. Next year, they’d receive new bills in each of the same categories; albeit in a sort of steampunk fashion, for their studies would evolve into the principles of electromechanics. They'll learn of the glorious power found in steam and move on to make motors and rudimentary engines. Perhaps even some steam-powered vehicles before the end of that year. The following year, however, would be more theoretical in nature. Seeing as how the necessary infrastructure for electronics and later microelectronics to take hold, I imagined those years would be spent developing MagiTech theories, learning of the later tiers of technology, and refining the skills and techniques learned thus far.

All of this would be facilitated by the elimination aspect of the competition. With the number of participants decreasing each year, it gave me more time to focus on assisting individuals, rather than a class. In turn, those that didn't make it would still know infinitely more than virtually anyone else in the empire, giving them an edge when it comes to both starting a business and filling it with employees. Those that were curious but didn't participate or were outright eliminated from the competition could then learn these concepts from their former classmates in the years to come. Thus I estimated my number of little engineers would increase by at least an order of magnitude in just one generation.

And that was if I didn't recruit anyone else in the years to come. A highly unlikely prospect.

With the changes made and a few inspections done, I venture through the floors with the aim to settle another matter. I had to learn what I could about this horrid armor Grandpa Lich forced on me. So I appeared before his desk a few hours before our scheduled time to find him lounging behind his desk of chaos like always, reading a book without a title.

“I see you’ve taken a liking to your new wear.” He said, his eyes still locked onto whatever he was reading.

“Most of it.” I shrugged. “I’m not too sold on the armor if I’m being honest.”

“It is necessary.” His eyes snapped to me. “A demon will rip you apart without it, regardless of your magical prowess. Besides.” He grunted. Rose from his seat and stepped around his wide desk to place a bear paw of a hand on my shoulder. “This is the key to unlocking the full potential of your Leech Hand. I am sure you understand, Amun.” He leaned close. Nearly touching his massive eye to mine. “The consequence of the spell?”

“I do.” I backed away a bit, nodding. “Constantly being broken and healed will strengthen my body beyond its normal limits. But it still won't be enough for me to use more strength than my body can hold without it breaking. If I take too much strength, I won't be able to move without breaking. This will negate that, I assume?” I grasped the helmet from my shadow and held it up to chest height. It resembled a skull made of my umbral necromancy. Waving pillars like the raging Flames of Moil rose from the brow like a crown. Complete with a crest of hourglass-shaped horns extending from the sides like ears. “Will I even be able to move in this?” I turned back to him.

“It is.” He grimly nodded and made a ‘gimme’ motion towards my shadow. “And you will.”

I pulled out the rest of the suit before looking at him expectantly. He in turn, admirably eyed it for a good long moment before looking back to me and declaring. “This Abyssal Armor has been passed down the generations. It is Upgraded by the finest artificer in the land before each new wielder. Thus it is imbued with more enchantments than all your weapons and clothes combined. Leech Hand. Shadow Step. Wraith Form and its counterpart. The same three enchantments found within your mask and more. Above them all are three essential functions.

“First and most importantly.” Grandpa raised a sole finger. “This armor is powered by a Soul Drive. Without at least one soul in the core, you’ll have to support the entirety of its weight. Though even you will still be able to carry it without one.” He condescendingly chuckled. “It’s made of a metal called Mithral. A non-ferrous metal, mined from Darkworld, deep underground. It’s as durable as adamantine and far lighter than steel. On top of that, the metal is quite receptive to mana, thus it is imbued with our sorcery. With the proper soul, carrying it will be effortless. With ten average souls, the armor will be on par with your average athlete in terms of strength. With twenty, you’ll enter the peak of human potential. At forty, you will reach that potential and begin stepping into the realm of superpowered abilities.”

“So in other words, this is the painless route.” I openly conjectured. “The path that leads to me not having to spend time healing.”

“Precisely.” Grandpa Lich nodded. “The seconds you spend healing could mean the difference between life and death. And it is much too early for you to become a living lich.”

“A what?” I blinked. But he gestured back to the armor, ignoring my inquiry entirely.

“Imprint it with your mana.”

After scrutinizingly squinting at him for a long moment, I did as told and placed my free hand on the upper portion of the set before bleeding mana through my arm. The moment my mana touched the metal, it changed into a deluge of solid shade that flowed into the suit's recesses until it overflowed, prompting shade tendrils to reach out for the legs, helmet, and spurred boots. Like something out of a horror game, the pieces stacked into place with loud clicks and clanks until an armored doppelganger was left standing in my face.

“This is the second essential function: Phantom Knight. A second doppelganger, essentially. One with impenetrable armor,” Grandpa Lich paused to grip the helm from the phantom’s shoulders, leaving a pit of darkness atop the neck that slowly leaked shade into the surrounding environment. “Try it on.”

Begrudgingly but without a word, I took the helmet and began to pull it over my head. Only for it to dissolve into thin air and reform around my head naught a second later. And so too did the first half of the set. Dragging my arms and torso down just before greaves formed around my legs, forcing a bend in the knee. In the end. I felt… like a tank. Nigh-invulnerable, painfully conspicuous, and dreadfully slow. Even once powered by a soul or even ten, I was unsure of how agile and flexible I’d remain while wearing this thing.

And then there was the matter of how it looked.

Thankfully, however, taking it off was a similar endeavor as donning it. The entire thing just… disappeared in a mist of shadow at will. Leaving me with a small sense of relief. At least I didn't have to spend time fiddling with it. Or, with the Phantom Knight, even using it.

“Ghost Shroud.” Grandpa Lich declared as he handed me the matching seax. “The set is never truly taken off. It is merely transferred to the Shadow Realm to act as a protective shroud for your soul. You will be immune both to cross-dimensional attacks and spell that change your shape- like the wizards who love to turn their foes into animals. And, as you've seen, you can summon the armor in an instant.”

“And this?” I held up the blade. Only for it to disappear into thin air as well.

“Death’s Key.” He proudly declared, forcing a subtle groan from the depths of my bowels. “Also a family heirloom. Capable of one extremely important thing.” He held up a finger, completely ignoring my displeasure. “As its name implies, this blade can open a door to the Under. A portal. Used for finding the souls of corpses you find. Or to summon devils.”

“I see.” I slowly nodded. Then paused for a few moments to let it all soak in, as there was a lot. Daggers, spears, coats, armor, and dozens upon dozens of enchantments. So many in fact, that I hardly knew if I’d be able to use them all. I definitely saw myself using my robes as common wear from now on, complete with the daggers. The Reaper could and would be used when appropriate. But even then, I was first and foremost, a sorcerer. Magic was my forte. Martial combat was only a contingency for me. Something to keep in the back pocket at all times or to use when magic wasn't the best course of action. Which, upon considering how powerful I would become, would be more often than not. At the very least, it was something to use in the event of magic failing me. And so too would this armor, I decided. Something used sparingly. To prevent a life-threatening injury, at best.

“I’m fascinated by the enchantments and everything.” I eventually sighed. “But, I’m still not sold on the armor. I can’t see myself using it in battle. And I’m neither a Death nor Void Knight. If anything, I fit the description of a monk or an artificer. And if I understand things correctly, monks cannot even wear armor.”

Any sense of amusement or amiability left his face in that instant. In its place was a lip-curling sneer aimed directly at me. “You seem to be misunderstanding this, Amun.” He growled. “Your garb is used for battles. For combat. But this.” He jabbed his meaty finger into my ribs. “This. Is for war. For conquest. You will not survive without it.

“Here!” His bear paw suddenly clamped around my wrist and pulled, ringing his office with resounding cracks of furniture as he flung me through everything between us and the window with a bloodcurdling roar.

The office, the tower, and the man himself disappeared in the tumbling distance. Yet I heard his voice trailing behind me as clear as day. “Let me show you what war is!”