Low-Fantasy Occultist

The roar of the Black Hounds' artillery shook dust from the bell tower's rafters. Below, the streets were packed with mercenaries, yet the fighting stayed at a distance. The red dome around the Elpen estate was a solid, shimmering barrier, repelling flaming pitch, acid bolts, and boulders with ripples of crimson light.

Nick closed his eyes, tuning out the deafening crack of the siege engines. He pushed his senses beyond the noise, both magical and mundane, diving deep into the estate's bedrock.

A nauseating friction ground against his mind, scratching and clawing like the Void's whispers, but from an entirely different direction. The pressure was growing exponentially, stretching the fabric of reality until it began to tear.

It would take time before the World gave way, especially for a summoning such as this. Especially considering his suspicions about Alexander's true intentions.

"Ephor is occupied," Nick said, opening his eyes. "The ritual is underway, and a breach is being opened as we speak."

That wasn't good news, but it wasn't bad either. Ephor being rushed to perform the summoning before he was ready meant he was using Alexander's plan rather than the Forge or attempting to replicate it. That made him vulnerable.

If he had full access to the Elpen Forge, I doubt there was anything we could have done to stop him. Yet his rush has to mean something. Is he weaker than we believed, or just fearful of the array of forces hunting him?

The Shadows, after all, were all Prestige warriors, and if they moved directly to stop him, even he would be at a disadvantage.

Rosmaria grunted in acknowledgment. The gears of her leg braces whined softly as she shifted her weight, and as she stared at the red dome, her amber eyes traced lines he couldn't see as it absorbed another volley of mercenary fire.

"They are wasting their energy," she observed, giving no hint of the discomfort he knew she was in. "The ward disperses its effects across its entire surface. Throwing fire at random does nothing but drain their mages. But I suppose it's not all useless, since it allowed me to trace the matrix's flow. It pools toward the cardinal anchor points."

She pointed a gloved finger toward a section of the dome near the western gate. Her grandchildren followed, and Nick tried to make sense of the spellfire to see what she was referring to.

"There. That's the runic intersection we should aim for," Rosmaria instructed. "Hitting that place repeatedly will force the ward to draw power from the surrounding lattice, thinning the surface tension."

Nick couldn't really see it. The power of a Prestige ward was still beyond him, especially one crafted by Ephor Ultimer, but he trusted the old woman to know what she was talking about.

Rhea reached into her satchel and pulled out a crystal vial. The liquid inside bubbled a green even brighter than the one they'd used to breach the city's protections.

"This is the best batch of the Behemoth core's solvents," Rhea murmured, swirling the vial. "It is far more refined than anything else I've made and is incredibly potent against structured mana, but it needs a weak point to bite into the array. If we manage to thin the ward, I can probably burn a hole through it."

"Then thin it we shall," Nick said. The others didn't bother asking what he intended to do, trusting he could deliver.

They descended the narrow spiral stairs of the bell tower, emerging into the packed streets, where the stench of unwashed bodies and smoke hung thick.

Mercenary spellcasters stood behind makeshift barricades, chanting in a dozen languages as they hurled elemental strikes at the estate. Massive trebuchets groaned under the strain of their winches as their engineers amplified the kinetic potential until it resembled that of a modern bomb.

Because the red dome was still active, there was no hand-to-hand combat. The Ultimer garrison remained safely behind their walls, firing their enchanted arbalests over the barrier, forcing the mercenaries to keep their heads down.

Nick led the group through the artillery lines, keeping their presence concealed and ensuring no attention was drawn to the old woman in the mechanical rig or to the two cloaked figures flanking her.

When a stray volley of iron bolts rained down on their position, he raised a hand, creating a sharp updraft that carried the projectiles harmlessly over their heads.

Soon, they reached the edge of the western square, only fifty yards from the shimmering red barrier.

"Give me a few minutes," Nick said, stepping out from the cover of a ruined storefront.

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With the Shard in his hands, it was easy to tap into the chaotic flows of mana all around him. Nobody bothered to guide their spells given the magnitude of the wards they were firing, so he only had to contend with residual will, something he could easily do given all his practice in breaking minds.

To his left, a squad of mages launched a volley of searing fire lances, which Nick caught in his grip. Around them, he wove a crosswind, nudging their trajectory ever so slightly.

They bent unnaturally through the air, converging on the runic intersection Rosmaria had indicated.

The red dome flared, absorbing the impact with little difficulty.

Above him, a trebuchet launched a boulder coated in burning pitch and enchanted to weigh five times its normal mass. Nick seized the stone with a surge of kinetic mana, adjusting its trajectory downward, and the boulder slammed into the same point.

From there, he fell into a rhythm. He took control of acid arrows, spheres of lightning, and chunks of stone, funneling the uncoordinated mercenary attacks into a hyper-focused drill. His recent level-ups gave him more than enough mana and control, and over time, he wove the chaotic destruction into a single, relentless point of pressure.

Slowly but surely, the red dome began to struggle. Its crimson light at the intersection flickered, turning a translucent pink.

"Be careful," Gaelen warned, keeping his eyes on the battlements above. "The automated turrets are tracking the impact zone. They may find you soon."

It didn't matter; he'd done enough.

"Now, dear!" Rosmaria ordered.

Rhea sprinted forward, covering the last fifty yards to the barrier in a flash. She uncorked the vial, and a thick cloud of noxious gas began to form around her, though Nick knew it was merely a byproduct of the brew's potency.

With a heave, she hurled the liquid directly onto the flickering pink.

The moment the two energies met, a violent alchemical reaction erupted. The Behemoth core's earth-aligned properties clashed horribly with the dome's blood magic, and the barrier hissed, releasing a cloud of foul black smoke.

Pink light curled inward, melting like parchment held to a candle flame.

A hole three feet wide opened in the shield.

"Now!" Nick shouted.

He grabbed Rosmaria by the arm, supporting her as the gears whirred to adjust, and hauled her through the smoking breach, flying at full speed. Gaelen and Rhea jumped through a second later.

The moment they crossed the threshold, the deafening roar of the mercenary artillery vanished, silenced by the estate's internal dampening wards. The courtyard was bathed in the harsh light of splashing spellfire, giving it an eerie feel it had lacked even during their previous flight.

Behind them, the hole in the red dome continued to expand slowly.

The Behemoth's essence was a primal, corrosive force. It ate into the ward's structural lattice, spreading like an infection along the weakened runic lines. The blood wards shuddered violently, and a high-pitched whine echoed across the estate as the magical tension mounted.

Now that it had become visible through the smoke, the mercenaries roared in victory and began concentrating their fire in that direction without needing Nick's guidance.

Hundreds of spells and projectiles of all shapes and sizes converged on the hole, some merely accelerating the wards' weakening, while others actually got through, sending the courtyard into further chaos.

At the same time, several men realized they had intruders among them and abandoned their arbalests to turn on them.

Nick couldn't afford to give them a painless death, so [Bolt of Wrath] roared into existence at his call, leaping from soldier to soldier in crimson arcs.