Dark Parasyte

Archmagus Seliorna Elyndrel was no stranger to duels. As the head instructor of Lightning Magic at the Starlight Arcanum, she was the pinnacle of martial spellcraft in her discipline. Through the decades, she had faced countless prodigies and seasoned masters, even Aetherborn aligned with Lightning, and she had defeated nearly all of them. She knew the sound of storms, the scent of ozone before the strike, the taste of mana burning across the tongue. She knew the storm better than anyone or so she had believed. Yet standing before Planarch Corvin Blackmoor in the runed arena, she felt something unfamiliar: unease. It wasn't his rank that rattled her. No, this duel was not about Archmagus or Planarch, not about High Elf or Synod. This was Lightning against Lightning, storm against storm. A trial of will, mastery, and command of the tempest.

Seliorna drew a slow breath, then released it, letting her mind sink into the current. Her body became a conduit, her spirit dissolving into the flow of pure Lightning. Sparks danced across her armor, her aura crackled like a storm front, and the acrid tang of ozone thickened the air until every breath felt electric. Across the warded barrier, Corvin stood utterly still, calm as a mountain, his steel grey eyes resebling storm clouds fixed on her with an expression of faint amusement. He had not raised a hand, had not even shifted his stance. He looked, infuriatingly, as though he was watching a rehearsal rather than preparing for a duel.

She struck first. There was no hesitation, no mercy. Two bolts hurled simultaneously, dual casting, a feat that only a handful of Archmagi could ever master. One streaked toward his head, the other to his chest, twin arcs of white blue brilliance sizzling as they cut through the air. Corvin, without so much as twitching a finger, seized them mid flight. The bolts bent as though alive, spiraling into coils around him, serpents in a dance. He held them suspended for a heartbeat, then sent them back, magnified. They shrieked toward her, thicker and brighter, snarling with ten times the fury she had given them.

Seliorna's eyes widened, her heart hammering, but her instincts reacted faster than thought. She spun her staff, twisting the bolts aside, slamming them into the stone floor. The explosion ripped across the arena, stone shattering, cracks spidering out as smoke and dust filled the air. From within the haze she countered, weaving a storm of forks and lashes, bolts splitting and rejoining until the hall became a net of searing arcs.

Corvin stepped forward into the storm, elegant and unhurried. Each movement was deliberate, every gesture minimal, but the results devastating. He redirected her bolts with lazy gestures, not blocking but bending, reshaping, feeding her own attacks back to her. Each return volley came at double, then triple her original speed, and every impact made the protective wards groan like thunderclouds about to burst.

Seliorna pushed harder, her staff a blur of motion. Her control was absolute, but her body strained to match the speed of her casting. Sweat beaded her brow as she called down a rain of spears, a thousand lances of lightning that hammered down from above in a storm meant to flatten armies. Corvin merely raised his hand. The lances curved as though drawn by gravity, bending around him in a shimmering arc before slamming back toward her in a single, devastating wave. The impact hurled her across the arena, her armor sparking as she barely rolled back to her feet.

Still he did not press his advantage. He stood, head tilted, gaze steady, an unreadable predator letting prey flounder. Every part of him radiated calm inevitability.

Seliorna snarled, her composure fraying. She gathered more mana, forcing it into her casting until the air screamed. Her bolts thickened into roaring columns that split the warded arena with deafening thunder. Her motions became frantic, elegance burned away, leaving only raw speed and desperation. Yet the faster she grew, the calmer Corvin became. He flowed through the chaos like a dancer, sidestepping arcs that could have vaporized steel, redirecting others with effortless grace. He moved as though the storm itself bent for him.

Every clash of their Lightning ended the same: his swallowing hers, his dominance absolute. Every advance she made, he allowed, only to twist it against her. He was not fighting her. He was playing with her. A cat toying with a mouse. And worst of all, she knew it. That knowledge burned hotter than any lightning.

Her breathing grew ragged. Sparks burst from her hair, her staff trembled in her grip, her vision blurred with strain. Her armor rattled under the force of her own spells, her aura fraying at the edges. Corvin, by contrast, remained untouched. Heremained steady, his robe unscorched. Each step he took forward was punctuated by a crack of thunder so deep it shook the bones of every onlooker beyond the wards.

Then he smiled. A faint smirk curved his lips as he raised both hands, summoning the storm with casual authority. Ten arcs of black violet lightning coiled into being around him, writhing like chained beasts. Dual casting was rare. Casting three was more so. But ten? Ten arcs controlled simultaneously was beyond record, beyond precedent. The power hummed in the chamber, the wards shivering under the strain of containing it.

Seliorna staggered back, sweat dripping into her eyes. Her heart sank as the truth crystallized. This had never been a clash of equals. From the first bolt to this moment, she had been giving everything, yet she was only performing for him. The duel had been his from the start. She had never been in control. He had been in control all along.

With a sigh she dropped to one knee. "The victory is yours, your Grace." She said.

--

The clash of thunder and lightning filled the great hall, echoing like a storm contained within stone walls. The onlookers stood behind the protective wards, their eyes fixed on the duel as it unfolded with a ferocity none had expected.

Vaelorin watched with his trademark grin spreading wider with every exchange. He had known Corvin's control over lightning was terrifying, but seeing Seliorna, prideful, disciplined Seliorna slowly unravel amused him beyond words. When Corvin first bent her bolts back at her, Vaelorin chuckled under his breath. By the time Corvin casually curved an entire storm of spears and returned it in one wave, Vaelorin leaned against the barrier, arms crossed, and whispered with relish, "And that, High Elf, is why you should never pick a fight with the Raven."

Valyne, in stark contrast, was tense, hands clasped tightly in front of her. Every strike and counterstrike made her heart pound. She had no doubt Corvin would win, she had heard about him devestating the Lightning leaderboard at Umbraxis Arcanum. His understanding of the element was too deep, his strength too much to doubt it. But watching him toy with Seliorna sent a strange heat crawling up her neck. When he smiled mid duel, Valyne's cheeks flushed, though she muttered to herself, "Show off," trying to mask her admiration. Yet even she flinched when ten arcs of black violet lightning writhed into being around him.

Seliorna's magistras reacted in their own distinct ways.

Elydria Marrowind, refined and disciplined, pressed a hand to her lips. She had expected Corvin to be formidable, yes, but not to so utterly dominate their Archmagus. Her eyes tracked every motion with horrified awe. Each time Seliorna staggered back, Elydria's shoulders stiffened, as though her own composure were under assault.

Serenya Valerith, bright eyed and sincere, watched with her hands gripping the railing of the ward. She had never seen such mastery, never even imagined it. Her cherub like face paled, her earlier determination to "have a word" with Corvin wavering as the storm intensified. Yet her gaze never left him, her expression caught somewhere between admiration and fear. When the wards shook from the force of Corvin's conjured storm, she whispered, "He's not even trying…"

Thalira, bold and fiery, seemed almost exhilarated. Her amber eyes gleamed as she watched Seliorna pour everything into the duel, only to be smothered by Corvin's controlled grace. When the thunder cracked loud enough to rattle her bones, she grinned and murmured, "That's real power. That's the kind of strength worth following." Where Elydria wilted and Serenya hesitated, Thalira's interest only deepened.

By the time Corvin summoned ten arcs of black violet lightning, the hall was silent except for the roar of the storm. The spectators, each in their own way, realized what Seliorna was now being forced to confront: the duel had never been even. It had been a lesson. A demonstration. And the Raven was the only one in control.

--

Seliorna's chest heaved as she dropped to one knee, her staff trembling in her grip. Sparks still flickered faintly across her armor, each crackle a reminder of the storm she had just weathered. But the fight had already left her body, drained and exhausted. She lowered her head, her voice quiet but steady, carrying across the dueling hall. "The victory is yours, Your Grace."

Vaelorin, grinning ear to ear, stepped forward with a theatrical bow, clearly savoring every second. "The duel is concluded," he announced, his voice sharp with relish, dripping with satisfaction at Seliorna's humbled state. At once, the ten arcs of black violet lightning that snarled in Corvin's grasp sizzled and disappeared, the overwhelming hum of power fading until only the faint echoes of thunder remained, reverberating through the enchanted barriers.

Corvin strode forward, his calm presence filling the silence like a tide rolling inexorably forward. He stopped before Seliorna, inclining his head with a measured nod. "You are one of the finest opponents I have faced, Archmagus. A worthy duel indeed." His voice was steady, not mocking nor condescending, but carrying a weight that told her and everyone, that he meant what he said. It was praise that, despite her humiliation, could not be taken lightly.

Seliorna raised her eyes to him, utterly spent. Her lips curled into the faintest of smiles. "Thank you," she whispered, her pride tempered by exhaustion and a small flicker of respect she had not expected to feel.

Corvin clasped his hands once, the sharp sound echoing through the chamber and drawing every gaze back to him. "Come," he said, voice carrying with authority. "Let us prepare for the evening meal." Already, he turned toward the exit, his stride unhurried and confident, as if the duel had been nothing more than a passing amusement before dinner.

From the group of magistras, Serenya hesitated, wringing her delicate hands together, then gathered her courage. Her cherub like face flushed crimson as she stepped forward. "Your Grace," she began softly, her voice trembling but earnest, "if you would allow it… I would very much like to have a moment of your time."

Corvin paused, then offered her a kind smile, his expression warm and disarming. "Of course, my dear. Come." He extended his arm with practiced courtesy, his movements smooth and elegant. Serenya blushed harder but did as etiquette demanded, slipping her arm into his. Whispers fluttered among the onlookers like birds startled into flight, though Corvin paid them no heed.

Valyne's gaze lingered on the pair, her lips pressing together tightly, her turquoise eyes narrowing ever so slightly before she closed them. She struggled against the storm of jealousy rising in her chest, telling herself to accept it. She remmebers snippets of conversation between his hard thrusts, about accepting the reality of their situation. Yet her mind and body betrayed her. Mana in her core suddenly surged, swirling violently, expanding in powerful waves. Her eyes flew open, wide with shock, as the aether of the hall itself bent toward her like rivers drawn to a single ocean. Before anyone could react, Valyne's aura burst outward in a torrent of turquoise light. She was ascending, right there, without warning from Magistra to Magus.

Gasps filled the chamber. Ascension was a gradual process for each and every mage, a slow climb requiring careful culmination, meditation and preparation, often lasting decades. But here Valyne stood, trembling, her hair lifting in the wild currents, her eyes glowing with raw aether. As an Aether Mage, she could see it with horrifying clarity. The torrent of power streaming into her core carried a signature. His signature. The resonance was undeniably Corvin's.

This can't be possible… her mind reeled, panicked thoughts racing. Is it even possible for one to trigger another's ascension? The streams thickened, flooding her core, threatening to rip her apart from the inside.

Corvin, however, only smiled, he released Serenya's arm gently, murmuring reassurance, then approached Valyne without haste. This was a little surprise to him. He had felt the signs building. Generally, ascension required years of growth, clear awareness of the threshold, and a meditative embrace of the crossing. But this was different. He had accelerated it. Every night of intimacy, every pulse of his essence, every moment she had shuddered beneath him had fed her growth. Each climax had been fuel, each exchange a spark fanning the fire, until the threshold was no longer waiting in the distance, it had arrived, demanding release.

Valyne staggered, overwhelmed, until Corvin caught her, holding her steady in his arms. With a single thought, he shaped a runic circle beneath them, the symbols blazing with blinding light as they anchored and directed the rampant flow. He guided the torrent, coaxing it, feeding it into her core at a measured pace that would not tear her apart. His hand pressed gently against her back, steadying her as she convulsed. The hall was silent but for her ragged breathing and the thrumming of wild aether.

Minutes stretched as the storm raged. Valyne's body shuddered again and again, turquoise sparks bursting around her, until finally, the flood began to calm. Her aura dimmed, the torrent narrowing into a steady stream. She shuddered one last time, then slowly opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was Corvin's face, close and steady, his smile tender and reassuring. "Congratulations, my little fox," he murmured, his voice soft enough only she could hear. "Allow me to address you properly now, Magus Valyne Yrithis."

Her lips parted in shock, tears welling at the edges of her turquoise eyes. Then a trembling smile spread across her face. Despite her weakened state, she dipped into a graceful curtsy, her body trembling yet her voice clear. "Magus Valyne Yrithis of the Umbral Synod greets Planarch Corvin Blackmoor," she declared, her voice still faint but carrying across the chamber. Then, steadying herself, she turned and offered the same courtesy to the Archmagi present, they returned the curtsey with war nods.

The magistras returned her curtsy as dictated by ancient custom of magi, their movements perfectly in sync, though their expressions varied. Elydria held her composure, though her jaw was tight. Thalira's amber eyes gleamed with burning curiosity, practically leaning forward with interest. Serenya, by contrast, was wide eyed and breathless with awe, her admiration unmasked. To Valyne's surprise, Serenya was the first to break protocol entirely. She rushed forward and embraced her warmly. "Congratulations," Serenya said, her words and eyes utterly sincere, brimming with innocence. Valyne, stunned, returned the hug, her lips curling into a small, grateful smile.

The Archmagi, meanwhile, offered their congratulations with cold precision, words polished but eyes calculating. Seliorna's gaze lingered, sharp despite her exhaustion, while Vaelorin's grin had grown sly. They had noticed it too. The resonance of Corvin's mana signature woven into the ascension. This was not a simple advancement, it was something new. A variable that changed everything. A phenomenon that demanded to be reported, dissected, and used. If the process of feeding a higher ranked magi's mana to a lower ranked one to increase their ascension can be deciphered and repeated, even the structure of the society can be reshaped.

The gathering dissolved soon after, each party returning to their quarters, whispers trailing like shadows in their wake. Valyne, however, did not separate from Corvin. She followed him back to his chambers, her heart hammering in her chest. She needed to speak to him, about the strange occurrence, about what it meant for her, for him, and for all of them.