Black Magus

Etan Za'Darmondiel.

***

To become one with the Noctis, one had to dwell in darkness. That truth was made apparent with a rapid descent into the black hole. A point of impenetrable night that grew in scale with each passing second, eventually consuming the universe around us until the reality we had known was concentrated into a fine point of light behind us.

We fell or floated for an indiscriminate time before the ground appeared beneath our feet, pushing back against the proverbial fog to reveal a checkered stoop that stepped down to a truly vast greenhouse. The room was lacking in anything more than a lawn of ankle to knee-high grass that extended for what seemed to be several hundred square meters from the end of the steps, interspaced with a few large puddles and piles of dirt. On the contrary, the astral beams of the arched ceiling were almost incorporeal; being only distinguishable through the nebulae and star clusters they resembled from below.

Without words, we took the first step, and like the strike of a gong, a deep hum resonated with the chamber before something struck us. We began to shrink with each passing step. Or if not that, the place grew as we descended. Whichever was true was irrelevant at the time, and still so now. The seconds stretched further apart as we approached that dark floor. So too was the drop of each step higher. So high, it eventually became, that the ankle-high grass turned into a field of knee-high plants. Those plants then grow into trees that, after falling down a few more steps, grew to dwarf even the Bodhi Forest. The platform, the plants, and quite horribly, the animals grew to a far larger scale than the short stairs we started from; and, of course, the stairs themselves raised into a sheer cliff once we finally met the bottom.

When all was said and done, it was hard to tell we were indoors at all. Our landing was a semi-circle of heated stone and burning braziers overlooking the colossal wilderness of the unknown realm.

Taking the only path found, we penetrated the obvious invitation into the dark forest. It was a trail of stones or perhaps bone illuminated in umbral flames that left the 30-meter strip of land curtained in walls of darkness. But only through one side did those curtains block light, for the night began whispering just moments after we began the journey.

"Oi! Look bys! Fresh meat!" It was the voice of some type of goblin. Followed closely by the crude laughter of an apparently feral orc.

"Hur hurr! And veg, it seems. Oi, long ears! Your blood red? Or is it... like sap?"

"That's a good question, really," Reina murmured, scratching herself with her talon before she turned over her shoulder to respond with a surprise. "It's a bit of both, actually!"

"Oh, goody! And, look it, we even got some with metal in 'em!" the same orc called. "Tell me, girly, do you bleed?"

"Well, yeah, but it's not really blood so…" Iris responded without hesitation, and in the same perfunctory tone as her mother.

"Can't wait to see what that's like."

"Oh?" She perked up and fully turned toward the darkness, smiling while her finger wagged playfully. "It won't be easy!"

"Hah! She's got spunk! They're spunky. I like 'em! Can't wait to kill 'em. An' I'm gonna kill 'em good, I am! Especially that darkie."

"I beg your pardon?" I scowled.

"You heard me, skinny. Come and kill me if you're that mad about it. Wahahahaha! If you can! Wahahaha!"

"Not only did you make them smarter, you made them speciesists as well. Excellent."

"Oh, no," Amun's sourceless snicker echoed. "They've always been speciesists. The vast majority of mortals seem to be. At least in the realms I've been to. Not without reason, though."

The taunts and heckles continued on for several minutes; for several minutes more, they were met with a range of reactions. Menacing growls and outright threats. Vile promises and crude humor alike. As well as silence.

Silence, that was not truly found until we arrived at the end of our path, wherein not even the wind dared howl over our microscopic territory. A rudimentary camp of a large tree leaning atop a boulder for barracks; relatively large foxholes for a mess hall and aid station; and logs for classrooms, all spread across a circle, 150 meters in radius.

"Welcome to the War Phase." Amun declared as he appeared before us in a plume of gilded black feathers. "Until this phase ends, you will have no access to your dimensional storage, you can use no undead, and you cannot use your Doppelgangers. Anything you wish to use or eat will have to be created or killed with your own hands. Simultaneously, you may only rely on your physical abilities, manipulation, and mana molding. Your magic and sorcery will be effectively useless, save the ability to Usurp Life and Strength from those you fell. Aside from that, you'll have a four-hour window of peace each day. I would advise you to spend that time fortifying the compound, for this is the place you must protect.

"Your four hours begins now."

It was quite the sight. Seeing the results of everyone's training. Hardly any words needed to be exchanged between the Troupe and their subordinates. Freki took his pack of over fifty to hack away at the surrounding canopy of colossal branches while Geri's pack provided overwatch and did some scouting to produce a crude map of our surroundings. The tons of falling timber fell to be taken by the Mafia and Iris' extensive family to be used for a perimeter wall or below ground. Throughout our short time of peace, they constructed a framework of concentric rings and rooms furnished with the necessities. Likewise, Reina led a group of humans in filling the frames and lining the floors in dirt and stone, compacted to the maximum. Even then, others were at work with the perimeter, constructing moats, traps, obstacles, and funnels that led to the nine open arches in the wall. Each was 4.72 meters in width and length. Each was a kill zone for a Troupe member and their subordinates. Each held a backdoor leading to a second, larger alcove where one could recover and be healed by Amun in exchange for rigorous physical training.

Using only our physical abilities, that was as far as we got until the distant rumbling of a goblin horde caught our attention. I know not how the others fared. Within my kill zone, however, I had the astral goblin Rimoire positioned behind an embrasure above the entryway. From there, he began firing his rudimentary crossbow at the unceasing swarm before they had a chance to enter.

No matter how many bolts he rained on the enemy, the never-ending onslaught of goblins streamed into the alcove to face the astral ogre, Ginku; a paragon of her kind, like all the others in my party, boasting a denser frame and higher intelligence. With her poised at the entrance, she killed and absorbed the life energies of her foes to bring her constitution to truly monstrous heights within hours. Turr, the bearbug, was constantly moving about the flanks, occasionally alternating between his monastic kills and ranging practices to ensure the swarm stayed within the zones of control. On the contrary to Ginku, strength was his aim, as it made his hit-and-run tactics all the more successful.

As for me, I was behind Ginku, tending to any who managed to make it past the aforementioned three, while Tacnan Gemeye and Glok the hobgoblin supported me from the rear. We were of similar minds, the three of us, as we all split our spoils evenly between strength and constitution.

That was not to say it was easy, however. The battle was never-ending. More like an unceasing tide of bodies than numerous waves of foes. We fought until our arms seemed to be made of lead. On we fought, until blood poured from our alcoves live rivers. On we continued until mounds of dried flesh and mangled corpses forced us to push into the outer yard.

When the last body fell and an eerie silence crawled across the land twenty hours later, even the undying members of the Troupe wanted to collapse. Yet, there was work to do. Thus, we got to work with brief words exchanged. And yet, things were different this time around. We convened to discuss solutions for the weak points in our line. A list of priorities was made. An extensive blueprint was drawn up. Schedules were organized. Most importantly, bodies were gathered and split between Reina and Leary. But with our abilities stunted for the time being, only Leary could make use of them.

Around the outer yard, he manipulated the bone to make a massive ribcage that converged at a spine erected from our now-small encampment, effectively creating the framework of a dome. From there, the nine kill zones were pushed out to make the nine War Fields while the alcoves were walled over to make bunkers for the long-range or support types. Meanwhile, Reina took several others to dig extensive burrows beneath the bunkers and recovery rooms to act as storerooms and workshops to aid in the war effort. Or, at least, that was the plan. The second swarm came with a much greater intensity than the first. Not only goblins swarmed us from all sides, but humans arrived from the skies.

As if they were catapulted from afar, they descended on fabric canopies and crawled across the dome to rain down spells with their rapid-fire wands. The goblins were ignored entirely, spared from their deathly rain so that they could hack at us with wicked glee. Several of our subordinates died and would remain so until the next rest period. And yet, this fight was not as bad as the first. We could Usurp the life energies of those we felled, and we did so readily throughout both battles. But only halfway through the second day did we begin to see any results.

Some, like Ginku, favored bolstering their constitution, granting them denser bones, tougher skin, and more efficient metabolic processes once they surpassed their plateau. Others like Rimoire- before he died- favored increasing their strength, enabling them to leap across the compound to engage the humans above or shatter the bodies of the goblins below in one fell swoop. Powerful, the ability was. Yet it was not as potent as one would think- and not as potent as a superpowered constitution, as I learned during the third period of rest. The scrapes and bruises that littered my body had healed by the time I finished my meal of berries and dried meat. A meal that was completely digested just a few minutes later, and one that produced no waste in the hours after.

It was the traits described in one with a constitutional score of 70, according to the Guild Associations. An enormous increase in just two days of endless battle. And yet a paltry sum compared to the thousands of goblins felled. Of course, all of that changed on the dawn of the 3rd day.

Orcs attacked using a mix of tactics that forced us to cast aside our strategies of old. They too fell from the skies. But not before showering the dome with a shower of flaming stones that broke apart on impact. Even then, others sought to use plant roots to dig beneath us or carve through our fortifications from unseen angles; oftentimes using the goblins or humans to aid or conceal their actions.

Such prowess led to their downfall, however, for the strength they showed made them prime targets for all of us. Not just because of the danger they posed, but because of the fuel they used to impose it. Their life force was among the densest, but not particularly the richest. Thus, it was midday when the crude goblin weapons started to bounce harmlessly off my skin, which had grown exceptionally thick as a result of the constant improvements. Likewise, I found myself capable of blocking orcish axes and hammers without damaging my bones. Yet the adamantine arrowheads of the humans still hit home.

By peacetime, the infernos born from orcish artillery seemed to lower in intensity and the minor wounds inflicted upon me healed as we went about the compound, assessing the damage and making repairs. Repairs that were torn down on the dawn of the 4th day.

From a dozen hills away, the dwarves launched their barrage of explosives and foul chemicals. On trajectories high and low, they sailed, impacting to break apart our dome like a fast rock through a window. It took less than a minute of being bombarded to turn our focus away from maintenance and repair in favor of digging in.

We dug for half the day. For half of the day, the dwarves bombarded our position, giving the humans, goblins, and orcs half a day to stage, prepare, and sap their way into our compound.

Smaller explosions popped off just before the last shell exploded. Again, from the dwarves and their long-rage wands and spell cannons, providing cover for the humans sweeping across the fields to shower us with adamantine projectiles and rapid-fire spells.

There was some solace found in them indiscriminately attacking the orcs and goblins this time around. Not that it did much, as these ones held the finesse to deflect the attacks with their adamantine armaments just as much as we did. They didn't, however, have the means to steal our vital energies as we could. Thus, there came a turning point in each group where one reached the pinnacle of the two physical abilities. For myself, that happened on the 6th day of war. Everything from broken bones to severed arteries was healed, even during combat. Albeit at a slow but noticeable pace.

That feat birthed a change in tactics. I found myself going on the offensive. I took care to only protect my vitals while I sought to increase my strength, but only for the remainder of that day. Every day after, we agreed to mix our subordinates to create shifts in order to plan and keep the compound in order. And not only that, but to give the undying fiends with no friends a means to recover and work.

By the end of the 7th day, we began to think all would proceed well. The goblin horde had thinned, and the compound was proceeding along steadily. The droppings of the dead had been recycled and crafted into many tools, weapons, and crude but functional devices while the rest of us spent the day countering artillery barrages with thrown stones mixed with healthy servings of close-quarters engagements. Even the smallest of us competed with orcs in physical strength. Or in many more cases, exceeded them. As for me, I estimated myself to be on par with a vampire in terms of strength; among the weakest in the Troupe, yet it boosted my capabilities just as much as everyone else's.

We made plans that night to begin offensive operations. We prepared, feasted, and rested using the scraps taken from our enemies and returned to the line on the dawn of the 8th day to see pure dread waiting at the edge of the fields.

Every creature on the battlefield was equipped with some sort of hand cannon that collectively spat a wall of adamantine projectiles at near-constant rates. All of them were standing amongst wood, bone, or stone boxes with larger guns that spat even faster; all positioned strategically before batteries of spell cannons. There was nowhere to run from the rapid fire. So fast were those stinging projectiles, that they couldn't be blocked without the aid of magic. Anything that was not adamantine or mithral- of which we had none- cracked on impact, at best. At worst, they shattered. Leaving one helpless to the hundreds of bullets trailing behind them.

As fearsome as they were, though, they weren't as deadly as they were in Amun's past life. In effect, it was no different from being hit by a fast-moving arrow; something that those who fought against elves were all too accustomed to. Only a lucky shot to the head or heart had the potential to incapacitate. And sometimes only temporarily, given our healing factors. Of course, our enemy knew this. Thus, they upped the scale of battle with each passing day.

Day 9 opened with ships harbored in waters we couldn't even see bombarding our position. Simultaneously, airships flew overhead, launching projectiles or dropping bombs on any who dared be caught in the open below. Infantry arrived in lumbering vehicles of the land and sky, protected by crude but powerful 'tanks' that destroyed more than a few of us on the spot. Even then, we were undaunted. We disabled their vehicles by destroying the ground beneath them with brute force. The remains of the vehicles were thrown at the fleets above. Those of us immune to toxins provided cover while those more agile flanked the emplacements. We recovered what we could. Reverse-engineered and improved whatever we got our hands on. But our enemy was forever more advanced and infinitely more numbered.

By noon, their reinforcements had arrived. Their vehicles were armored. Their tanks were more maneuverable. The cannons on their ships could reach us from further waters. Their planes flew that much faster and dropped not bombs but mechanical pods filled with infantry wreathed in exoskeletons. Again, we salvaged what we could. Again, they returned at dusk with planes that flew beyond the skies, dropping bombs we couldn't hope to dodge, deflect, or sometimes even detect. Goblins, orcs, humans, and dwarves alike swarmed in mechanical suits of armor, powered by deadly technology that could rip apart whatever they touched with ease.

On the 10th day, we saw their ground vehicles hovering across the ground effortlessly while their sea-faring vessels were traded for platforms that fired on us from the distant skies, uncaring of the tech-wand-toting soldiers in power armor. However, we also saw something peculiar. Something only we could see.

The turning tide.