– Era of the Wastes, Cycle 220, Season of the Setting Sun, Day 13 –

  “Your cloak and armor are getting weirder by the day,” remarked Swen before closing the door to Terry’s chamber of order.

  That’s what I get for letting my slime run wild on my equipment.

  “At least you’re less shiny and edgy,” teased Swen.

  “You said it should be beneficial,” said Terry. He was happy that the mithril of his armor had settled on a dull dark grey under the influence of the shadow slime, but running around with an unfamiliar magic effect still made him nervous.

  “It is,” assured Swen. “I was never the best at identifying magic items, but I’d guess the armor effect is granting immunity to polymorphism and some other resistances. The cloak definitely has the shadow shield effect. Superior variant.”

  Good slime.

  Terry grinned. Having his slime’s work praised by a Faithless saint made him somewhat proud.

  Even though I haven’t done anything besides stuffing Oz with every shadow core I can get my hands on… which were a lot considering I’m the only person selling mithril.

  “Reminds me of the cloak Day brought back from the shadow plane.” Swen sat down next to Terry.

  The one molded from the shadow ruler’s essence?

  Good slime!

  Wait, is that normal for a slime? It’s still young. How old do slimes normally get? Am I feeding it too much? Is this growth normal? Should I be worried?

  “Immunity to instant death effects. Immunity to necromantic turning. Immunity to negative energy…” Swen tried to recall the magic identified on Day’s cloak.

  “Resistance against detection and location including divination and scrying,” finished Terry. He knew the Veilbinder’s equipment by heart. He narrowed his eyes at the shadow fabric.

  All passive, though, so how would I know for sure?

  “Huh.” Terry furrowed his brow. “That explains what happened the other day. I thought I was going insane.”

  “Happens to the best of us,” quipped Swen. “This place does that to you. What happened?”

  “Suho had left the room to deal with another customer and I decided to feed Oz,” said Terry. “Before Suho returned, I noticed Oz doing something but didn’t know what. When Suho returned, there was a moment when he acted as if I wasn’t even there before grumbling about me playing pranks or something.”

  Damn it, Oz, no one was going to try to steal your food!

  Swen snickered. “Sounds like hide presence and non-detection. I guess this means your slime is in charge of the active abilities instead of you.” He snorted. “Hilarious.”

  Swen wiped something from his eye. “It’s still good. If it’s remotely comparable to the Cloak of Ruling Shadows, then we can use that in the arena.”

  “When?” asked Terry.

  “I have my eye on some candidates,” said Swen. “Real pieces of work, but green. Arrogant enough that they won’t listen or make any friends quickly, so I’m sure they’ll hate me when they meet me, which means they’ll be easy to bait.” He shook his head and looked at Terry like a parent reprimanding a child. “But nope. Not before I’m reasonably sure you won’t die more quickly than I can react.”

  Swen exhaled sharply. “Perhaps we can look for some non-combat betting grounds for your specific talents, but the Court’s arena is not the place to take chances, which means…” He caught Terry’s gaze. “You know what I’m getting at. Made up your mind?”

  Terry took a deep breath and nodded. He turned the book in front of him and pointed at the section of a concept ritual.

  “Really?” Swen raised an eyebrow. “This is not what I expected.” He rubbed his bald head from one elven ear to the other. “Look, yes I know who could provide a fragment of that, and with Bulgur’s guarantee under the Order’s supervision, it will work, but…”

  Swen scrunched up his face. “Why the concept of self-attunement? That’s normally for those that suck at mana. Not that it matters in a comparison against gods, but you’re literally the opposite of someone sucking at mana. The only other people I know of that ever chose this concept ritual were those worried about mind control that couldn’t afford to barter for superior alternatives. I know for a fact your mind is well-protected, so—”

  Oy.

  “Did you use mind spells on me?” Terry narrowed his eyes. He could pick up on some of the Blasphemer’s tone changes and word choices by now.

  “Of course, I did,” exclaimed Swen. “Or tried to. I’m not much of a mind mage. Enough to get by, which, as an assassin, was—”

  “Not interested in that part,” grumbled Terry. He trusted the Blasphemer, but that didn’t mean he liked getting hit with mind magic, so he expected the man to give a good reason.

  “Well, first to see if I can get some truth out of your head before our first prolonged chat.” Swen shrugged. “Your appearance was suspicious as fuck. Later, I was more worried about ensuring that any truth I share will remain between us. Your mind was protected enough to not let anything slip through, which was, again, fucking suspicious. In the beginning. Actually quite reassuring later.”

  Probably to do with my strange soul.

  Terry knew from Ying and Siyu about the interaction between soul and mind. Even though they were separate concepts, they were related to each other, and a strengthened soul weakened the effect of mind-affecting spells.

  “Like I’ve said, I’m not the best mind-mage, so I’ve taken some additional precautions,” said Swen. “For both of us. Satisfied?”

  “Tell me beforehand next time,” said Terry.

  “Sure, bucko, so why self-attunement?” asked Swen. “That’s quite the generalist concept, and I thought we already talked about the delusion of defeating gods in general? Looking for a specific loophole instead is the best advice I can give and I know a thing or two about—”

  “I know,” interrupted Terry. “Which is why I’ve chosen this concept for the ritual.”

  Although hearing that it increases my mind resistance is a great bonus.

  Terry knew himself.

  He knew his limitations.

  He knew his fighting style.

  Terry had a single spell around which his style revolved. Items and weapons to incorporate. Mana cultivation techniques he had mastered and made his own.

  But at the beginning and the end of everything, there was always his mana foundation.

  Mana.

  My mana.

  Every spell he cast.

  Every discharge and burst.

  From his mana perception over his external mana bubble to his raw mana drain variant.

  Even his connection to the planes targeted by the Immovable Object.

  Everything depended on Terry’s connection to his mana.

  In the Arcana Academy, Terry had always thought of mana naturalization as a binary concept. Either the mana was his or not.

  By now, Terry knew better. Mana decay was a continuous process, so naturally, mana naturalization acted on a spectrum.

  There were obvious thresholds, of course. For being able to control the mana. For being able to use it for a spell. For removing an oscillating item from dimensional storage. These thresholds made it easy to forget that naturalization was, nevertheless, a spectrum.

  For a normal mage, it might be easy to forget the wide range beyond the thresholds, but Terry was reminded of them whenever he used his plane drift body inscriptions with their absurd mana cost.

  His training with the Blasphemer had shown results. Results that would have been impossible to perceive with normal mana costs, but for Terry, it was undeniable. His perception was sensitive enough to pick up the slight change in the plane drift’s activation.

  While Terry had focused on his physique, he had never slackened in his mana foundation training and with all the resources the Blasphemer provided him, he was making amazing progress even in this area.

  Normally, Terry might simply have focused on his increased sensitivity and range. Accepted the sensation of having a tighter grasp on his mana. However, the plane drift’s huge usage cost allowed him a numerical impression of his subjective feeling.

  His mana control wasn’t just getting more refined and far-reaching.

  It was getting deeper.

  His mana naturalization was moving further down the spectrum into depths that called to him.

  Terry had dismissed all the tempting concepts with the flashy effects he had dreamed of as a young mage. Gone were the days he measured a mage by the number of their spells’ effects.

  Terry had accepted that wasn’t his path.

  His path was his own.

  “Very well.” Swen got up. “Let’s get cracking!”

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  ***

  Terry slowly got up while feeling dizzy. His mana perception was going haywire and it took a moment for him to compose himself.

  “This settles our agreement,” growled Bulgur.

  “Not so fast,” said Swen. “How are you holding up, kid?”

  “I think I’m okay,” muttered Terry. He couldn’t help but examine the mana marks left behind by the ritual. In addition to the body inscriptions on his hands, and the rings on his forearms from his shadow bangle, there was now a slight glow of runic patterns all around his body.

  “We judge everything to be in order,” said the supervisor dispatched by the Leviathan.

  “Then we’re done here,” said Bulgur. He wanted to finish this disagreeable business. To be blackmailed into offering his services at his own expense while also calling in favors he had many other uses for.

  All at the behest of the blasphemous vampire.

  All because Melvin couldn’t contain himself.

  Bulgur glared at Swen. “Don’t expect any favorable discounts ever again.” He glanced at Terry. “And don’t expect any member of my crafting abode to agree to another deal without involving mithril as payment.”

  Swen grinned mirthlessly.

  Right when Bulgur had stepped a foot over the doorstep, he heard the heretic vampire call out.

  “One more thing, though,” said Swen.

  “I have no more business with you for the day, mortal,” hissed Bulgur without turning around. He had enough for the day. Even if the vampire had valuable things to offer, the mortal must not be allowed to forget his place.

  “Right, it’s not with you, anyway,” said Swen coldly. “I hereby ask for the Order to investigate an unlawful transaction from two days ago.”

  Bulgur turned around while staring at Swen with wide eyes. “You—?”

  “The god Melvin dared to cheat my friend despite our lawful contract,” said Swen while keeping his eyes on Bulgur.

  Terry swallowed. His eyes wandered from the Faithless Saint to the incensed goblin god and then to the glassy-eyed representative of the Order. A many-armed bipedal being whose face appeared unnaturally smooth and whose eyes were a deep, foreboding red.

  “Will this expense be charged to the same account as before?” asked the Judge’s representative.

  “No, this one will be on me,” said Swen with a wide merciless grin. “I don’t want to stretch Bulgur’s god-like generosity.”

  Terry was impressed with how much hate and loathing could be put into a single phrase, but the Blasphemer managed to make gods sound like despicable worms and cheapskates.

  “We had an agreement!” roared Bulgur. “I did what—”

  “You tried to play it off as nothing,” hissed Swen. Hardly a surprise. The parasites didn’t think anything of cheating mortals. Time to remind them.

  “What’s going on?!” Melvin and a few other goblin gods arrived because of Bulgur’s shouting.

  “There he is!” Swen pointed. “I’ll cover the expenses of the Judge’s investigation and the penalty if my accusation turns out to be false.” He stared coldly at Melvin. “But we all know it isn’t, so it’s not going to be me who’ll have to pay anyway.”

  Melvin’s eyes opened wide with horror. He could see what was going on. “But I thought…”

  “That we’d be done?!” shouted Swen. “You damned parasites are all the same! We’re the ones who’ve been wronged, so we’re the ones who decide when we’re done!”

  “Contract?” asked the Judge’s representative dispassionately.

  Terry caught the cue and held out the contract.

  “He cheated us first!” protested Melvin while pointing at Terry. “I never would have agreed to payment in credits if I’d known he had mithril!”

  “Boo-freaking-hoo, shithead!” spat Swen. “You think you can just renege the agreement on your own? Because we’re mortals?! Go fuck yourselves! All of you!”

  “We had an agreement,” barked Bulgur.

  “Not under contract!” reminded Swen.

  Well, of course not, they didn’t want the Order to get involved.

  “‘Agreements’ are made between friends and equals,” hissed Swen. “You think you can act like we’re nothing and expect us to take it?! Go die, you worthless parasite!”

  “A MORTAL DARES—?!” roared Bulgur.

  “FUCK YEAH, I DO!” Swen roared right back. “I’ll meet you parasites in court any time if you dare!” He grinned with crazed eyes. “But today, I don’t even have to, do I?”

  “Does the accused object to the accusation?” asked the Judge’s representative.

  “Of course, I object!” yelled Melvin. “A mortal has no right to—”

  “Irrelevant,” interrupted the Judge’s representative. “The Law is the Law. Leviathan’s Law doesn’t discriminate based on faith. Any objection to the veracity?”

  “You’re going too far!” Bulgur glared at Swen with hateful eyes. “You’d take the life of a god for—?”

  “For daring to cheat us?” offered Swen with a loathing that didn’t lose to the gods. “Not just with any item, but with a defensive, potentially life-preserving item? You played off gambling with a mortal life as if it was nothing much. Well, right back at you! To me, that makes your lives worth less than nothing! You’re nothing but parasites on the mortals of your realms. Good riddance!”

  “No objection noted,” said the Judge’s representative. They turned to Terry. “As a party to the contract, you have the right to make your own statement.”

  “Uhm…” Terry cleared his throat. “Swen is right. They’ve—”

  “No need to elaborate,” said Swen with a wave of his hand. “The Order can simply look into the essence of this realm. The Judge’s concepts permeate everything here. That’s what we pay for.”

  “Truth,” judged the red-eyed representative. “I can sense the veracity of the accusation. I’ll refer my preliminary judgement to the Leviathan for—”

  “NO!” shouted Melvin. He panicked and bolted away.

  “My favorite part,” whispered the Blasphemer while his gaze followed the fleeing god.

  “Guilty,” declared the Judge’s representative.

  Terry could sense mana in the voice.

  Mana that dissipated into the realm itself.

  Mana that connected with concepts that carried the Court.

  A pair of gigantic red eyes opened in the dome’s ceiling and all the gods in the area froze at once.

  All except one. Melvin fled towards a portal as fast as his magic carried him.

  Not fast enough.

  With the sound of crystal-clear bells, self-righteous fury flashed through the Judge’s eyes and announced the Leviathan’s judgement.

  Before the sound had faded, the god Melvin was no more.

  The giant eyes disappeared as if they had been nothing but a mirage.

  “As the accusation has been true and just, the fee for the accuser will be waived,” said the Judge’s representative. “The accused’s accounts and possessions will be confiscated instead.”

  “Possessions?” Bulgur gritted his teeth.

  “I’d be happy to pay extra for a thorough check of rightful ownership,” said Swen. He was looking forward to Bulgur’s crafting abode being raided by the Order to dismantle whatever had rightfully belonged to the dead parasite.

  “No need,” said the Judge’s representative. “I’ve already determined the accused’s account already covers that. We will inform you about the full inventory to determine an appropriate reparation as well as the reward for upholding the Order.”

  “My pleasure,” said Swen with a sneer towards Bulgur.

  “If that is all, I will take my leave,” said the Judge’s representative.

  Swen didn’t break eye-contact with Bulgur while the Judge departed.

  “You’re going to regret this,” growled Bulgur.

  “I only regret ever believing you might be more than a pathetic parasite,” hissed Swen.

  “The arrogance of a mortal,” sneered Bulgur. “I wonder how long you can keep that up.”

  “As long as it takes.” Swen stepped closer with his back straight and head held high. “I’ve already out-lived one puny god today. I can’t wait to see even more parasites fall in the future.”

  “And how do you figure your chances for that when no crafting god will accept working with you?” growled Bulgur. “Because for my abode, you’re banned from this moment.”

  “So fucking what?!” spat Swen. “You’re not the first and you won’t be the last. I don’t give a rat’s ass. Every few cycles, there’s a new bunch of you parasites arriving. Like little fucking rabbits. I can’t even blink before there’s more of you. I can’t even spit without hitting at least one of you. You think I need you? No one needs you! The world would be a lot better off without you!”

  ***

  Back in the chambers guaranteed by the Judge’s Order, Terry released a breath he hadn’t even known he had held.

  Terry looked at the Blasphemer, who was taking deep breaths as if to calm himself.

  Well, that would have been nice to get a heads-up on.

  Terry smiled wryly. The Faithless Saint hadn’t decided to share that he was about to have a god killed.

  So strange…

  Terry still felt the blessing of permanence on himself. The blessing of a god that had ceased existing.

  It was one thing to learn about inviolable blessings, but another to actually experience one.

  Terry puffed his cheeks. He would have preferred it if the Blasphemer had warned him about what was going to happen, but he also couldn’t blame Swen for keeping that close to his chest.

  They had basically scammed Bulgur into providing him a free and perfect concept ritual of his choice.

  Serves them right for trying to scam us first.

  Still…

  Terry couldn’t help but recall the parting words of Bulgur. The goblin god had put them on the shitlist of his crafting abode, and that was a big collection of crafting gods.

  Swen said he already had to overpay in order to get anything crafted before…

  “Was that okay?” asked Terry.

  “It was fucking necessary,” spat Swen. He clicked his tongue and looked at Terry. “Look, bucko, I know what you’re thinking. Yes, it’s shit, and shit’s not getting better but what else is new?”

  Swen put his hands over his face before moving them back over his bald head. “I guess it would be a more pleasant life if I just got chummy with the parasites. A lot easier if I’d just act like a good little bitch. If you consider groveling and acting the perfect image of subservience to be easier.”

  Swen spat on the floor. “Fuck that.” He scoffed. “Look, I know. I know what you want to say. Yes, we’ll have some more trouble getting proper work done if we need it, but I’ll figure it out.”

  Swen slapped his cheeks and took a deep breath. “Always remember, kid, we’re not just representing ourselves here. We’re representing our realm, and mortals as a whole.” He shook his head with distant eyes. “At least that’s what we thought when we came here. Don’t know if the others would have changed their tune by now. Whatever happened to them, I can’t help but wonder…”

  Terry bit his lip. He recognized that look again. The look of pain and wistful nostalgia whenever the Blasphemer was thinking about the past in which he hadn’t been alone in his fight.

  “I know the parasites,” said Swen and sneered. “If you play nice, they think of you as an ant. You have to constantly remind them we’re not to be dismissed just because we have mortal backgrounds.” He shook his head with distant eyes. “Day might have been able to do it a better way, but this is how I see it.”

  Swen took a deep breath. “Day always aimed to prove the worth of mortals. I just play into the parasite’s paranoia. They don’t fear mortals, but with the Twins’ blessing on me, I’m not just any mortal.” He chuckled to himself. “They can’t fathom that I’ve not been sent by the twin bastards, so they’ll contemplate a delusion that’s the epitome of terror to a parasite.”

  Swen caught Terry’s gaze. “The most visceral fear of a god is another god that can raise mortals to the level of killing gods. That’s what I have to project to keep them from getting one of their stupid ideas. So that’s why I can’t seem weak. Ever.”

  Terry understood what Swen was getting at. The Blasphemer had hinted at something like that in the past.

  A god killing a god was not worth dwelling on. It just showed the superiority of one god over the other.

  A mortal killing a god, however, was another story. It showed the inferiority of faith as a form of magic.

  When a god killed another god, they could usurp the original faith and hijack the existing channeling anchors or absorb the linked souls of their defeated rival.

  When a mortal killed a god, the channelers were left abandoned. A horrifying waste of resources to any god.

  Even though the gods wouldn’t truly fear a mortal, given the usual difference in life-spans, it was another story if a god was suspected of having raised the mortal to that level, because such a process might be replicated.

  A god with the means to create an army of such mortals was a terrifying concept.

  First, because it implied the god didn’t need to absorb the faith of its rivals. A dominating display of power.

  Second, because the raising of unmarked mortals didn’t follow the same limits as the distribution of channeling anchors. A god had to grow their faith within their own limits for fueling their followers and taking a grasp over their souls. There was no such limit on unmarked mortals. To raise unmarked mortals to the level of god slayer was therefore a terror in potential scale when wielded by a rival god.

  Nothing to be done. I can ask Suho if we need something crafted…

  Terry shrugged inwardly and sat down to study the change in his mana now that he could draw on the concept of self-attunement.

  ***