Black Magus

Grandmaster Gysil Vilignin.

***

Amun.

Nearly ten years had passed since I first heard the name. And another five had gone by until I heard it for the second time. Both were in passing from Headmaster Knagh and his mentions of correspondence with the Necro King. Nothing more than one-sided messages, really. All but demanding that Magus Everandus Cole’s position at the academy be reinstated later down the line while he boasted about his genius of a great-grandson in the same breath. The half-drow, half-royal heir of the House of Cole, Amun of Odissi.

Since long before I first met him as a young Arcane Warrior, the Necro King had been infamous for being a fox in a bear's hide. Only saying what was needed for one to get a general sense of his point with no hope for further details or comments to come later. Especially when such things were needed the most. He was a jokester. Immature. Full of shit. As such, I only grew more and more eager to see the Grand Duke’s prowess with my own eyes as the years passed. And finally, I had my chance.

Patience is a virtue, as they say.

Visually, Amun appeared more like his father, Emeric, than the Necro King. Their visages were all the same, of course, but their proportions couldn’t have been any different. Magus Everandus Cole was a massive mound of muscle, bone, and sorcery standing as tall as I, a pure-blooded Amazonian, and twice as wide. A side-effect of his pervasive perks and half of the same strong blood flowing through my veins, I’ve come to learn over the decades; otherwise, he’d have retained the same slender build as his descendants.

At 1.7 meters and 68 kilos sopping wet, however, Amun was neither as tall nor as defined as even his father. A result of the Fae running through his blood, his family assured us time and time again. A claim we had no choice but to blindly accept since the only ones here to be graced with the presence of elves in the last few centuries was the Iron Magus and the House of Cole themselves. On the other hand, witnessing the power of Arcana was something I had a fair amount of experience with. Though, seeing it wielded by a human was something I never thought I’d see in all my days. Half-human though he was.

As always, the Grand Duke of Odissi had a blatant flair of boredom and disinterest throughout Law’s explanation of the order of operations. He simply stared and rarely blinked, though he always answered or responded without delay. Even after the golem spurred to action with three bullet spells in one-second intervals, that flair persisted, and with hardly a motion or influx of mana, the shadow of each spell darkened to an illogical degree. Three maws of writhing tendrils and ink-black hands silently manifested beneath or around the bullets and proceeded to grasp and drag each spell to the depths. Then turned their sights on the golem, ripping its flesh asunder before it too sank into the forsaken realm of legend only the House of Cole House.

All in less than a few seconds.

“Next is Necrotic Sorcery,” Idonea announced to our subordinates while the golem was reformed. Though, no one could listen, as we all felt a sudden, inexplicable shift in the mana around Amun before the newly formed golem attacked.

Contrarily, Amun stood in the face of tar, lava, and iron without as much as shifting his posture, all for the sake of displaying his affinity with death to the rest of us.

Or so we assumed.

Most of the magical tar, lava, and iron that’d been thrown at him simply rebounded or deflected away upon impact, yet forced him back all the same. Scarring his chest and face with simmering and glowing splotches and scuff marks. Still, Amun didn’t grimace in pain or anger, nor did he counterattack in any way. He phlegmatically stood there and healed the scars and bruises covering his body with necromancy, flooding the coliseum with the potent stench of death as a consequence. I watched every spine in the room straighten and subsequently shudder forward into a hunched posture as a result. Just as mine did.

As a Grandmaster Mage, it was both a miraculous sight and feeling to behold. Throughout my career, I faced the foulest creatures imaginable and had walked the line with death more times than I could count. Like many others before me, I grew to think I’d grown familiar with that feeling after a time; the Shadow of Death. Naturally, such lines of thinking ceased once I met one who commanded such a thing. The Necro King.

As far as I understood, the House of Cole's power resided in their blood. Many have speculated the source of their power to be of draconic, primordial, cosmic, or even divine origins. But all that was agreed was that they were the oldest lineage of sorcerers in all the Mortal Plane. More have speculated that not even the Necro King was aware of the source of his power. That it was an enigma lost to time, ironic as that may seem, being as they were the only ones who could ask the ancients themselves.

What was factual, was that whatever it was that dwelled in their blood made them a part of both the Shadow Realm and the Underworld. And more so than they were a part of the physical plane. Destruction was their birthright. Undead saw them as sovereigns. Devils looked to them as leaders. They held every dark power of destruction one could imagine. Poison. Corruption. Curses. Deals. And now, the void. But even that was tame in comparison to the most fundamental aspect of their sorcery: it allowed those malevolent, extra-planar energies to enter the physical plane.

And the effects were not pleasant.

To that end, feeling the Necro King’s mana was nothing like feeling the shadow of death. It was like being forced to gaze upon the gates of the underworld as they peered ajar just enough for the gelid winds to whip a plague of sorrowful whispers into one’s mind. It was a truly pervasive energy that invoked a primal feeling in the heartiest of warriors. I could never mentally prepare for it, block it out, or evade it entirely. But I grew accustomed to it with time all the same.

What I was feeling now, however, finally made me realize that not even passing would make me familiar with the Underworld. The negligible sliver of death Amun withdrew to heal himself served to open the gates entirely before my eyes, if only for a moment; forcing the grayed landscape of screaming, clashing souls that expanded at Infinitum into my mind’s eye for an eternal second.

I snapped back to reality after what felt like an eternity of fighting and dying to see Amun, casually approaching the golem with his hand stretched out before him.

At the slightest touch, the lava flowing within the golem’s eye sockets rapidly cooled, then cracked into a web of crumbling stone that cascaded down the igneous and iron body. Within seconds, the entire construct decayed into a billowing pile of dust and rust. Evoking a long period of bewildering silence that continued as the Grand Duke went on to display his next ability.

“Void sorcery,” Idonea muttered after steeling herself.

If I hadn’t been focusing my eyes, I’d have missed the abyssal black streaks that sprawled across Amun’s body just before the first bullet made contact. Much to everyone’s bewilderment, the center of each bullet simply disappeared on contact, leaving the edges of each spell to continue unabated behind him as if two smaller bullets had been thrown out instead. Then, with a simple hand gesture, he created a mind-bogglingly black plate next to the golem and swept it across its flesh. Erasing the golem, the golem’s magic, and the ground it was standing on with naught a sound or hint of resistance.

After a long, long moment passed, the period of horrific silence was broken by Dutch’s astonished low whistle. “Three affinities from a single hereditary core. Therein lies the power of a sorcerer.”

I snorted softly at the remark. Not out of contemptuousness or even amusement, but nostalgia. There had been a time when every mage in this room said something similar, including myself. As Grandmaster, seeing the torch be passed to Dutch and Skye overjoyed my heart, for the lessons such a sight yielded were far greater than anything I or anyone else could teach. Here and now, they’d been humbled and made to realize that even with their tremendous power, they could be outmatched and outclassed at a moment's notice.

“Next on the list is… Gravity Magic.” Idonea stated. Followed by her muttering. “Whatever that is.”

Without removing my eyes from the young half-drow who was, in turn, studying the reforming golem with a curious eye, I said. “It’s one of the spells he keeps active.”

“Active as in… constantly?” Skye hesitantly asked.

“You didn’t sense it?” Lia laughed in her usual dry manner. “Two spells activate every time his ring comes off. Three if he’s floating around as he does. It's that third one. And one of the first two.”

“He canceled it for a split second to let the bullets hit him.” Yolanda monotonously added.

“Ah.” Skye rocked backward in understanding. “You think it’s powerful?”

“We shall soon find out.” I leaned ever forward as the potent stream of mana ceased its flow from the perch adjacent to ours, eventually forcing my legs to support my weight more so than the seat behind me. A mere inconvenience when compared to waiting.

After a few eternal seconds, the construct threw out its triage of bullet spells. And Amun’s reaction all but verified my assumptions. Or rather, his lack thereof.

As before, each bullet spell was fired at low intensity at one-second intervals. The head-sized mass of tar taking point sailed true to within five meters of Amun before it inexplicably lurched upward, diverting its trajectory just enough to fly over Amun’s head and splat harmlessly against the far wall. Similarly, the iron bullet jolted after crossing Amun’s low-powered domain and continued on at an odd angle toward the ceiling. Followed in tune by the lava bullet being pulled away from its target and sent away to crash dangerously close to our viewing booth.

Following the same motions as his opponent, Amun flicked a mass of the deep purple mana at the golem. Being no larger than the tip of his middle finger, the gravity bullet crossed the twelve meters between them in a flash, seeming to assimilate with the golem on contact. Then came the most morbidly fascinating sight I've ever witnessed.

The strange energy pulled at every fiber of its being from the inside. The arms, legs, and head, all forcibly curled and cracked inward, slamming into the torso in an ear-piercing cacophony of wrenched iron and crushed stone. In the end, a smooth sphere of igneous rock and iron was all that remained of the golem, floating at eye level until the mana wore off, wherein it fell to the ground with a resounding thud.

I and countless others were at a complete loss of words. For many reasons, I assumed. For me, it was the potential behind this… gravity magic. From the remains of the golem that had just fallen, the bullet spells from before, and the curious way Amun flew around, I could deduce that his ability revolved around falling. A seemingly innocuous power, at first glance, but one that I was sure could break the world.

For his electromagnetic demonstration, Amun sent out twin flashes of lightning towards the lava and tar bullets whilst simultaneously gripping the iron bullet in a magnetic embrace to then sling it back at the golem. And without pause, he began whipping up a violent tempest of mana behind him, invoking a sense of deja vu in everyone present. Just as we felt and saw a few days prior, a massive concentration of arcana was concentrated before being released in a perpetual stream of lightning. Seeing it up close and personal, however, was a much different story.

It was like the tamed breath of a blue or bronze dragon, the way it lashed out at the construct. A veritable pillar of crackling blue, it was, although it seemed as if it was forced through space via a conduit, the way the energy curved to meet its melting target. Almost as if it were alive and wished to waste no energy on the surrounding stone. Even after the golem was obliterated, the crackling streams arced between the spreading shards of inorganic flesh until the spell tapered out minutes later. Leaving molten pieces of slag strewn about the deafened arena.

His next magic was the most obscure of all and the object of almost everyone’s eye. To have any type of spatial magic was rare. Any type of temporal magic was even rarer. I’ve only ever seen Clerics or Warlocks gaining a fraction of such power through mutations or divine intervention. Having them both in a single affinity core was unheard of, as far as I was aware.

Like before, Amun stayed still while the spells made their way to them. Canceling one of the low-powered domains he kept around him was his only action as the bullets made their way to him, only to halt in place five meters before him. Or so it seemed. Upon closer inspection, however, the spells were still spinning. They appeared to still be flying, even while they remained suspended in the air, flinging bits of tar, iron, and lava out to their sides as if they had to cross an immeasurable distance to reach him. Then, with but a flick of his finger, a speck of the same energy flew out toward the golem, causing it to rust and decay on the spot just as it did with his necromancy.

A perceptible tension rose in the air as the Iron Magus reached his mana down to repair the golem. I and everyone else present was more than anxious to see the final affinity in action. His void magic had been long anticipated, that was true. And his gravity and electromagnetic affinities were a large topic of interest amongst all the spectators, but with the instance from the other day and Amun’s incessant use of the former to navigate, it was easy to make conjectures on the nature of those abilities. As was the case with space-time magic, being as self-explanatory as it was. Nuclear Magic, however, was something no one had even heard of. Not the high societies of Vagua or the expansive labyrinths beyond the White Wall were even privy to such information. Perhaps not even the mysterious elves of Youtera, I was certain. Thus, I felt extremely fortunate to witness such an esoteric affinity with my own eyes.

Much to my dismay, however, my eyes were forced away just after the golem sent out its attack. I saw Amun send out a bullet spell in his usual manner. Then everything in sight froze to a standstill. Amun; his outstretched hand; the golem; the mages around me; they all remained in my vision even as I recoiled in shock. Burned. Singed the image was, into my very eyes from the light what felt like a star and what came to look like a withering explosion contained within a domain.

When it finally waned, only a molten crater could be seen where the golem was just standing, eliciting a roar of applause and conjecture in every booth. Even ours, for the most part. But where my mages made comments, I paid close attention to the mana pouring into the spell the two Magus’ were preparing. As explained before, the Necro King would initially put enough necrotic energy into the golem to make it sentient, effectively turning it into a necromental. The necromental’s power would then be increased with a soul of some type. Though that itself was the very question in my mind.

Although I couldn't hope to see souls or even feel the difference between them, I could tell they empowered the necromental far beyond the level needed to challenge any platinum-grade initiate. Yet even then, I could tell that they didn’t even come close to matching the potency of Amun’s magical abilities. His physical prowess on the other hand...

“Ensure you pay close attention. And do not blink.”

Following my advice, I began concentrating ambient mana around my eyes and ears. In turn, my mind shifted its senses away from the sudden spikes in mana around me to hyper-focus on the hulking behemoth hunching forward on its knees. With my eyes focused to their near limit, I saw every minute detail of the necromental's pounce. It erupted with the strength of a manticore, yet it seemed as slow as a sloth's reach. The ground where it stood cracked into a web of stone while the massive creature itself streaked straight to Amun. Even then, I failed to see Amun flick out a gravity bullet spell. I only saw him slowly lowering his arm and watching in awe as the necromental’s quaking steps grin to a sudden but gradual stop. It managed a swing before it was forced back a step. Then tumbled, somersaulted over the ground, and halted itself by gripping the stone tiles as if it were a crevice in a cliff face.

In lieu of its efforts, the necromental’s purchase waned and eventually gave out. And so the hulking mass plummeted towards the cove-like opening of the coliseum; all but finishing the display, in my mind, until a sudden spike of mana struck my senses, and the golem disappeared entirely. Only to reappear before the viewing box in the far wall in the next instant.

We stood in horrified awe before our minds registered what we subconsciously knew and began to brace only after the necromental’s full size loomed before our window. I, myself began to spread a domain, only for the area before our booth to distort and tear just before the creature impacted. The room itself seemed to sigh in relief as much the same scene repeated before our eyes, with the only difference being the similar portal on the far side. Effectively creating a loop for the thrashing necromental to fall through and through at a rapid blur. It was quite the sight for the crowd. I, however, couldn’t help but feel slighted. Especially after refocusing my sensing and becoming aware of the impertinent wrapped around Amun’s face.

After a few seconds, Amun flicked his fingers again to reposition the portal before us to the ceiling whilst simultaneously closing its mirror. Naturally, the necromental had no choice but to plummet into the arena in a land-shattering impact. With the amount of raw mana empowering it, however, the foul thing rebounded without issue and lunged through the smoke with a wide swing to Amun’s side, eliciting a loud exclamation from the crowd.

That exclamation turned to wonder once the necromental’s fist followed through with no bits of blood or fabric attached to it. All of us, myself and the enchanted glass we were watching through, searched the arena for Amun’s position until we saw the monster lunge toward the opposite side. Enhancing my senses beyond their limit, I turned my attention to see Amun at the eastern edge, staring at the wall as if he were staring out at the sea on a relaxing night. He just stood there, even as the necromental came in from overhead to shatter the ground on which he stood. Then, like the rest of us, the sentient chunk of inorganic material searched the reforming area for Amun. Only for us to simultaneously avert our attention several meters away to see Amun, casually walking towards the center of the arena.

With a lava-spewing roar, the necromental spun about, lunged, and again assaulted his afterimage, this time with a thick stream of rock, iron, and lava. Yet, just like before, an unscathed Amun appeared just a few meters away, walking as if he were strolling through a market. Naturally, that enraged the necromental to a degree of absurdity. It began attacking without pause, producing more craters, chasms, and lava puddles with each attempt at smashing, pummeling, and destroying not just Amun, but everywhere he could be. And yet in spite of its efforts, the seemingly fragile Initiate all but skipped through space without any inconvenience as he made his way to the center.

As miraculous as it was, I could only feel that this display was intended to be a message to us organizers of this assessment. A message that said this challenge was weak, boring even. I’d seen countless messages of a similar nature, over the years. Mostly by those who couldn’t back up their claims, but a shining star could be found on occasion. Though, even those stars found themselves humbled by bigger stars after enough time. If I were to judge this star from what I’d seen thus far, though, I'd say that out of everyone I knew, there was only one or two handfuls worth of individuals capable of outshining him. And of them, three of them dwelled in Maru. As humbling and embarrassing as it was to admit, I was not one of them. Even with my senses focused beyond their limit, I struggled to keep up with Amun casually skipping through space with a not-so-humble grin.

My frustrations and amazement rose to an all-time high when he disappeared entirely, forcing us to search the arena for his position once again until we felt a spike of mana coming from above.

Craning my head, I saw him… standing on the ceiling, cradling something in his arms. A shift or flicker then fell about his frame before it disappeared around his feet, cast into shadow by another lava stream ejected by the necromental. Unconcerned in the slightest, Amun kept his attention on the ground as he grasped onto the ambient mana and sweep his arm aside, ripping the spell apart mid-air. Following his focus brought me to the strangest sight. A black, red-eyed rabbit dashing madly towards the necromental. With its attention focused on Amun, however, the beast paid the little creature no mind and thus remained unaware of the rabbit maneuvering into its shadow.

Though it was hard to see, its flesh began to bulge and bulk grotesquely until it was around twice its original size. Then, one became two, two became four, and the process continued unabated until the necromental finally noticed their presence. But by then, it was too late. Rabbits of pure darkness crawled over its arms and legs, ripping chunks of stone and iron from its limbs while others burrowed into the chest cavity. Some died from their efforts. Yet, like the undead, there was always another to stomp over their ashes and burrow a little further. All the while chased by the swarming sea of umbral bunnies, jumping over each other to tear at the remains until nothing was left of the necromental, wherein the army of gloom turned their gaze upward to the half-drow standing on the ceiling.

Grand Duke Amun of Odissi.