Basic Thaumaturgy for the Emotionally Incompetent

Emotional Purity looked like a really good skill. It was an all-encompassing enhancement, providing you were a half-decent thaumaturge. Any spell needing emotional channeling would receive a not insignificant umbrella buff. This could help him a lot with his final exams.

But this was no time to think about the final exam.

As they turned the corner into a grainier and definitely more sinister corridor, Fabrisse became acutely aware of his lack of parry spells. The only parry spell she had was Stillbrace, and surely he wasn’t blocking any mantis with that. What else could count as a parry? Does redirecting count? It probably does, under ‘reflection’. Then, does blocking with a well-placed rock count?

The corridor opened into a chamber shaped like an inverted teardrop, with a ceiling tapering high and a floor widening in a way that looked like a mouth about to speak. There were no bisected corpses in this chamber, meaning Severa hadn’t been here yet. He warily scanned around, looking for movements, but all he saw was a shudder. From Severa.

Severa shuddered once in front of him.

Was that fear I saw? Did she ever feel fear? Not that he’d ever seen. If she does feel fear, does that mean she’s been pushing through this entire corridor in constant quiet horror?

She had stopped shuddering, so he assumed she was just cold.

Then she halted. Fabrisse froze in step, noticing how her body tensed, how her eyes narrowed as she raised her hand. She threw out a piece of paper with runes etched on it, and a golden glyph appeared in the air before her, coalescing into a streak of light arcing along the chamber. She murmured an incantation under her breath and let it slip forward like a probe. Fabrisse’s heart jumped as tiny figures scattered into view from the shadows.

“I knew it,” she muttered. “A Chasm Nymph ambush.”

Fire erupted from Severa’s palm in staccato bursts. Her hands moved with that fluid, terrifying precision he had seen before, and the small insects exploded in brief flames, leaving smears of smoke in the air. Even so, she stepped backward cautiously, just enough to keep her distance from the swarm. Fabrisse mirrored her motion, always staying a step behind.

Perfect, he thought, a strange thrill rippling through him. This is a perfect opportunity to parry for her.

One small insect wouldn’t do much damage on its own. And a parry . . . a parry is a parry. If he timed it right, he could block or redirect one of the tiny attackers, and Severa wouldn’t even notice.

The problem was . . . Severa was scorching them all.

Every single insect, no matter how fast, how tiny, how desperate in its scramble, erupted in flame, leaving nothing but faint smoke curling into the chamber’s high ceiling. Even the ones that seemed like they had a chance to breach her line of fire—gone. Every last one.

And she wasn’t even using anything flashy; nothing but Tier 2 Fireballs and bursts of combustion. The precision came not from complexity, but from instinct, timing, and ruthless efficiency. It was almost unfair how completely she dominated the swarm with what looked like minimal effort.

Fabrisse’s eyes dashed from the nearest Nymphs to the ones skittering at the far edges of the chamber. Surely Severa will slip . . . just one . . .

A part of him, darkly mischievous and thrill-seeking, considered deliberately tripping her so he could test a real parry. But the thought erased itself under its own recklessness. What if a bigger threat arrived at that precise moment?

She didn’t turn around, but spoke to him anyway, “Kestovar. Keep your eyes on the far end behind us. They know how to hide, so try feeling the aetheric disturbance. If suddenly aether courses through your body, there might be ambushes.”

Feel the aetheric disturbance? I can barely feel my own aether . . .

His thoughts were spiraling, trying to latch onto any sensation in the air, when a sudden twitch of motion danced at the corner of his eye.

Incoming for Severa.

And it’s small!

I will parry it!

Fabrisse thrust his hand forward and conjured Stillbrace.

[Emotional Vector: Resolve 0.72 – Shame 0.22 – Nervousness 0.06]

He forced resolve into it just good enough to materialize the spell, tightening every muscle to keep the damn thing from collapsing prematurely, then lunged to Severa’s side.

Boop.

The ‘incoming threat’ drifted to the floor. It was . . . a brittle flake of stone peeling off the wall.