Aetherios System: Whirlwind

Chapter 52: Demon Asura

Time moved into day two of his training with Sylvaris with dread in his mind and excitement in his heart. He had managed to continue working efficiency training yesterday and it nearly broke him. On top of that, he had gotten better at managing the strength of his [Flare] and controlling his [Shield] spell’s angle and duration.

It was the last part that he couldn’t manage. Using the [Condensing Spiral] while blocking and moving.

There were very small moments of success for Alex. Times when he felt the gathering technique taking effect for a small amount of time, letting him adsorb just a fraction of aether before he lost control of it, or before his attention was forced elsewhere.

This was also the basic form of the technique, and not the advanced form that Sylvaris had helped him develop. There was no way he would be able to manage braiding three strands of aether while doing all the rest at the same time, so he only attempted the one.

They had even gone a couple hours into the night, and he still had no real tangible success in the final part of the training.

Sylvaris assured him that was okay. It was perhaps asking far to much of someone so new to magic and The System. The elf even said that he didn’t practice his own gathering technique at the same time as fighting, due to the element filtering he had to do. Even though the elf was an Air Mage and most of the aether around was indeed air attuned, he had to focus to filter out the rest of the elements in his technique, making it vastly difficult even for him to practice this training method.

It made him feel a little bit better to hear that. At least he knew his future opponents wouldn’t be cultivating aether as they fought him. But he was far too tired mentally and physically to revel in that sliver of joy.

He got only a few hours of sleep last night, far too tired even to deal with Obby and the sentient’s rocks insistence on moving forward with his [Glyphcraft] training. It was just too much for him.

He awoke the next day from Sylvaris pressing down on his body with aether like a telepathic vicegrip. Alex was forced to nudge himself off the bed frame and crawl out of the pressure that the elf was creating before he was able to stand up.

“Eat, drink water, we continue in thirty minutes,” was all the elf said afterward. Alex was having serious traumatic flashbacks to basic training once again.

Morning mist still clung to the clearing when the two of them entered it. Sylvaris drew a line in the dirt with a fingertip, conjuring a spinning circle of glyphs. At its center, a small, blue flame hovered, its shaped remained unwavering despite the breeze.

“Oh that’s interesting. Get a closer look at those Glyphs for me.” Obby seemed in a better mood than he was.

Be quiet. What did I say about speaking in front of Sylvaris. Shut up until later. Alex looked at the elf, who didn’t seem to have noticed anything between himself and Obby.

“Strike it,” he told Alex.

He looked at the elf then back at the flame, unsure of what exactly was being asked of him. Eventually he simply shrugged and stepped forward. He launched a palm strike followed by activating the aether pattern of [Flare] at the weakest level he could manage; a simple and blunt, crude burst of force.

The flame didn’t even flicker.

Sylvaris raised an eyebrow. “Again.”

He tried again with more speed and power. Still, the flame stood.

“You do not understand,” Sylvaris said, stepping up beside him. “Do you not remember yesterday’s training? This flame responds to truth, not to strength or speed. Intention.” He raised his own hand and with a slow, graceful motion, extended two fingers. A breath of energy kissed the air and the flame extinguished without resistance.

“You lack flow. You cast as a soldier would, and as a result you are disconnected from breath and motion. But in a true battle, you must weave magic and physical power at once. Breathe in both aether and ferocity between your strikes. Let it become your power, not your crutch.”

He moved then, flowing into a demonstration. A series of open-hand strikes, each enhanced with minuscule bursts of aether and air, flowed into a concussive explosion of wind, a kick detonated with controlled wind slashes, and a step invoked a lightness as if a gravity spell was cast. It was a dance of brutality, mixed with elegance, and inhuman refinement beyond anything he had witnessed before.

Alex stared in awe.

“That’s… what is that?” he said. Alex watched him with his [Aether Sight] active throughout the entire demonstration. Energy was being manipulated in the attacks, forming powerful strikes and effects. But it wasn’t all Sylvaris’ aether, not from his core at least. It was as though he was casting spells without actually casting.

“That was a true Fighting Style. One refined over centuries, passed through essence and culture.” Sylvaris nodded. “Most learn one from tomes, passed on through the teachings of masters, or bloodline inheritance. Some create their own, if they survive long enough.”

These were the secret arts that Alex had hoped to buy from Celeste when he had last seen her, only to be let down when he learned they were even more closely guarded than spells or cultivating techniques.

Alex had looked at the empty “Fighting Style” section of his status screen with some resentment in his heart for days now. He wanted more power, and this was how he could get it.

He swallowed, “Do I... get one?”

Sylvaris gave him a long look, then turned to a stone plinth that was sitting a few feet from where they stood. Alex hadn’t seen it there at all before, as if it was simply conjured from the earth between one moment and the next. Upon the plinth lay a tome bound in dark, lacquered scales, the edges faintly smoldering with heat and shadow.

“You asked to be strong enough to save your friends,” Sylvaris said. “This Martial Fighting Style was taken from a dark cultivation mage I once slew. It is not pure or kind, but it suits your condition.”

He stepped forward, feeling the oppressive weight of the tome before he even touched it. Its title glowed in dark crimson script:

[Demon Asura Style: One Thousands Arms of Wrath]

He reached out, and the tome opened for him.

Energy and light swirled around Alex’s form. He felt the heat of the light and the pressure of the aether on his body before it seemingly crawled along the surface of his skin. The energy moved up his arms and torso, across his chest and shoulders until it assaulted the gate at his neck, infiltrating his very being like some sort of magical virus. Alex thought he heard himself scream, but he wasn’t certain on that.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He regained his senses while standing in the clearing, Sylvaris watched him patiently off to the side. The look he saw on the elf’s face was like he knew what was going to happen to Alex ahead of time and was assessing his reaction. Which was disturbing, since how could he know Alex would just open the tome right away?

“Of course you would! You’re you. Since when did you think before acting?”

Shut up. I have notifications to look through.

He mentally brought up the system messages he had just missed. There was a few, and each following message made the smile on Alex’s face grow wider and wider until he was certain he looked just like the demon who’s fighting style he now owned.