The Forsaken Hero

The eighth-level mage stumbled back, his eyes widening in alarm as Luke’s jet of raw curse mana smashed into his hastily erected wards. I flinched, half-expecting an earth-shattering explosion or a shockwave to ripple through the valley, but the blast of darkness simply flowed around his magical shield like water.

The mage’s wards held briefly before they thinned and collapsed under their own weight, allowing the insidious curse to seep through. A scream tore from his throat as the shadows dripped onto his exposed skin, searing his flesh black wherever they touched. The darkness didn’t stop there, but crept into his body like a living thing, coursing through his veins and turning them black beneath his now translucent skin.

The curse ravaged the mage, body and soul. Dark tendrils tore into him, rending apart his mana even as he desperately tried to weave another spell. The half-formed runes dissipated as he lost control and crumpled to his knees, his screams echoing through the valley.

The entire exchange, from the mage’s furious bombardment to Luke’s devastating Soul Break, had happened in the blink of an eye, almost too quickly for me to follow. But by the time the mage’s wards had failed, Luke was already casting another spell, this one an eighth-circle incantation.

The demonkin’s staff glowed with an inverted brightness, sucking in the surrounding sunlight instead of glowing on its own. The result was a faint, violet hue that pulsed with a cold, ominous aura, sending chills down my spine.

"He’s insane," R’lissea muttered, shaking her head.

To begin an eighth-circle spell mid-fight was absolute madness. They took time and focus to cast, and even the slightest distraction could lead to disaster. Backlash from a failed spell at that level could cripple or even outright kill a mage, and no opponent would sit idly by and allow it to happen.

But Luke began the incantation before the effects of his Soul Break were even clear. He had gambled completely on my word alone that Adaptive Resistance would protect him. Now, with the mage incapacitated dealing with his curse, he had bought the time he needed for such a spell.

Would I have been willing to do the same? Could I trust my life to someone I barely even knew?

I shuddered, glancing at R’lissea. If she told me she used a spell that protected me from the slave crest, would I allow someone to place one on me? Maybe, if it was her, but Luke? Could I really trust him as much as he trusted me?

As the minutes crawled by, Luke’s spell continued to gain power. The mana grew so dense it was visible to the naked eye as a dark shimmer in the air. I could practically feel the enemy mage’s frustration, but he was helpless to intervene. It took the whole energy of his soul just to fight the curse gnawing at his soul and purge his body of the darkness.

At the same time, the demons clashed with the remaining soldiers of the fortress in a brutal, chaotic melee. The humans were few in number, but their souls burned with a fiery intensity, none weaker than the sixth level. They slaughtered demons with every spell and technique but had little to show for it. The demon horde cared little for their losses and continued attacking, determined to bury them under a mountain of corpses if that’s what it took.