Low-Fantasy Occultist

The mana in the valley was dense enough that it made casting delicate spells difficult. Inside the temple, it formed a suffocating blanket that was impossible to ignore, even for those lacking keen mystical senses.

Outside the main chamber, it was stifling. The violet haze was so thick here that Nick could see it swirling around without needing to use [Empyrean Intuition].

The combination of the dungeon’s own mana, the psychic energies that Vane is unleashing, and the Feral God’s domain is something I never thought was possible. It feels like something will have to give eventually. This is just too much.

Still, he had a more urgent problem to address before he could confront that looming threat.

Ord looked like a different man. The well-maintained but old iron armor he’d worn during the weeks he’d known him was gone, replaced by a suit of interlocking Sunsteel plates. His new greataxe was a slab of enchanted steel that would have cost a year’s earnings in Alluria, and it made his already impressive bulk genuinely intimidating.

Beside him, Tessa held a new bow carved from white bone, and her quiver was full of arrows tipped in alchemical tar.

For adventurers like them, this level of equipment would only have been possible at the end of their careers, if they managed to live that long.

House Hone had offered it as a side benefit of their betrayal, and though it pained Nick, he knew there weren’t many adventurers who would have refused such wealth.

"You should have run," Ord rumbled. He shifted his grip on the axe, getting ready for the fight he knew was coming. "We gave you a chance at the lake. Why did you have to follow?”

"We told you," Tessa added, drawing the bowstring taut. Her voice shook, but her hands remained steady, and her aim was fixed on Nick’s throat. “We are not going to die for your little project. This is bigger than you all.”

Monte spat to the side. Though he hadn’t known them longer than Nick, he’d fought shoulder to shoulder with Ord on the battlefield, and that forged a bond that shouldn’t have been broken so easily. The fact that their betrayal coincided with Terence’s death likely only intensified his anger. "That’s all it took? A shiny suit of armor?”

“We did this for our future," Ord corrected, raising the axe. “This is the last warning. Go back. We don't want to, but we will kill you if we have to.”

“Liar,” Malik said softly, standing firm before Nick. He didn't wear Sunsteel, nor did his gear have any special enchantments. His chainmail was the same scratched, dented piece he had since leaving the Tower, and his shield bore scars from many blows, despite repairs. “But I wouldn’t expect a dead man to care about the truth.”

“We named you dead,” Yvonne cut in, before the traitors could dare justify themselves.

More than anything they had said until that moment, that seemed to strike a chord in Ord’s and Tessa’s hearts. Nick sensed the flicker of genuine surprise, sadness, and the resulting hardening of their hearts.

There was no turning back from that. Either side would have to die.

Malik slammed his spear against his shield.

CLANG.

"We named you dead!" he repeated with a roar, and the sound of his voice echoed off the obsidian walls like a gavel strike, heavy and final.

Ord flinched. For a moment, the mercenary seemed small inside his big armor.

“Nick, go!" Yvonne shouted, rushing ahead.

Nick hesitated for a fraction of a second. The Hones had not spoken so far, but he knew they were still skilled soldiers, and with the powerful equipment they wore, this would not be an easy fight, even if he stayed.

If he left, there was a real chance that his friends might lose. That they might die here.

Yet the mana in the air kept growing heavier, and he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. Giving Vane so much time to set up would only backfire, and, despite his desire to stay and fight, that was more important.

"Give them hell," he whispered.

Channeling the air around him and shaping it to his will, he propelled himself upward, soaring along the curved wall of the antechamber and bypassing the phalanx entirely thanks to [Wind Step].

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"Stop him!" Tessa shouted, releasing her arrow.

But Yvonne was already there. Her greatsword flashed, knocking the arrow out of the air with a spark of steel.

"Eyes on me, traitor!" she snarled, crashing into the archer with the force of a landslide.

Below them, Malik caught Ord’s falling axe on his shield. The impact sent a shockwave that cracked the floor, but Malik didn't move an inch. He roared and pushed back, causing the traitor to stumble into the Hones’ formation.

Nick landed past the line, skidding toward the final silver doors.

The Hones elites turned to pursue, but Raphael didn’t let them, weaving a complex web of spatial mana. "I don't think so," he said coldly.

He snapped his fingers, and the air between Nick and everyone else became an impassable barrier of warped space, with himself as its fulcrum.

"Go, Nick!" Raphael shouted, even as sweat beaded on his forehead, holding the distortion against the psychic spells that flashed. "End it!”

Nick turned away and sprinted toward the silver doors, feeling both grateful and burdened, yet trusting his friends.

As he reached for the handles, the mana pressure suddenly spiked. The air became heavy, forcing the breath from his lungs, and the violet haze darkened to solid black briefly before snapping back.