The Chronicles of a Scalebound Sage

WM [57] Cracks In The Mask

Signe could not afford any distractions as she channeled her mana, directing it into the intricate network of clockwork devices that surrounded her. Each device whirred to life, delicately etching lines of magical code into the stone, forming complex geometric shapes and fractals that interwove across the walls, ceiling, and floor of the cafeteria. 

This was not just an enchantment, but the creation of a ritual on a grand scale. With her eyes closed, Signe visualized each piece of the ritual, commanding the devices as they carefully inscribed the necessary symbols. This enchantment wouldn’t merely patch things up—it would collapse any tunnel not originally part of the fort, mercilessly crushing whatever had dared to carve its way through the mountain. She would ensure the fortress remained impenetrable, as it had been in the days of old.

The scale of the task would normally require an army of enchanters and an unfathomable reserve of mana. However, Signe was no ordinary enchanter; she was the Royal Hand of the First Princess. She intended to demonstrate exactly what that meant. Her mana flowed unceasingly, boundless and potent, as she pushed the ritual enchantment forward.

Unfortunately, the druids had other plans for them. Even with the heads of the lieutenant and the scout Lillevenn killed, some other druid patrol had found them. She was not in a position to stop and would have to rely on Fuyumi and Birger to defend her. It didn’t take long for the stomping of footsteps through the druid tunnels to grow louder.

“Do not worry, Hand Jet, we will take care of this next group.” Fuyumi said in an eerie whisper. “Birger, do you mind if I take charge?”

“I will assist where I can,” Birger said as he picked up a shield from one of the downed druids Signe had killed earlier. “No one is going to disturb the Hand.”

Signe could sense the druidic energy closing in like a foul stench permeating the air. She had anticipated the possibility of interference, but this was not a fight she could afford to join. All she could do was hope that Fuyumi and Birger could hold them off. If she hurried the process it could be just as catastrophic as if she is interrupted. The amount of magic she had focused into this ritual enchantment would be enough to collapse the mountain on its own. 

Lilleven returned through Signe’s shadow, the familiar sensed her worries through their bond. He didn’t have to be told what was happening. He could feel everything through their connection. He joined Birger at the defense and resolved not to let anything happen to Signe.

As soon as the first druid stepped into the cafeteria Fuyumi was already a blur of motion as she engaged. As she approached the druid forces her form blurred and limbs passed seamlessly through obstacles like the ghost aspect of her kin’s namesake; the ghostborn. Druids were quick to blurt out their spells, and unleashed a barrage of elemental magic. Flames crackled to life in the hands of one druid, while another called forth a torrent of water that snaked through the air toward them. A third druid whipped up a gust of wind, intending to throw Fuyumi off balance. 

Signe could only glance as Fuyumi leapt for a split second, her form blurring as she summoned an array of weapons from thin air. These soldiers weren’t mages, it was clear by the lack of precision of their spells. Signe recognized the spell Fuyumi was using, Walking Armory, and it was breathtaking. It wasn’t a magic many people used because it required so much skill and precision. Fuyumi’s hands flashed with frigid energy that sapped the heat from the air as she conjured a naginata first, the long polearm spinning in her hands with graceful precision.

In a fluid motion, Fuyumi phased through the oncoming water blast, her form shimmering as if she were a ghost. The naginata vanished from her hands, replaced by a pair of tonfa, which she used to block a spray of fire. The flames rolled harmlessly over the energy-infused weapons, and in a Blink she was in striking distance and she delivered a crushing blow to the fire-wielding druid. The impact sent him sprawling, and the tonfa dissolved, only to be replaced by a yari—a long spear which she immediately hurled at the wind-user.

The spear arc through the air and left a trail of sizzling frozen air as it skewered the wind-casting druid through the chest. Fuyumi spun back, now wielding a set of kama, and parried an incoming wave of water from the last druid. Her movements were a dance, each weapon emerging only to vanish the moment it was no longer needed. 

Birger, meanwhile, was slower to react. He had positioned himself as a final line of defense between Signe and the attackers, his massive frame barely holding back a surge of wind and fire that assaulted him. His magic was limited to Mana Muscle Saturation, but Signe could see that he was already struggling, his shield arm shaking under the strain of blocking the combined elemental attacks. 

He wasn’t a match for the druids’ speed and agility, and Signe knew he wouldn’t last long on his own. Luckily he had Lillevenn watching his back. While Birger was the big obvious target, Lillevenn slipped in and out of shadows to take advantage of the slighted opening the druids had when they targeted Birger. Together the pair was formidable as long as Birger could endure the pain.

Fuyumi took down another druid with a pair of sai that glimmered with icy light. She twisted to dodge a jet of flames, and the sai morphed into a kanabo—a heavy club she wielded with ease, smashing through a watery barrier as if it were nothing, the druid that summoned it lasting no longer than the shattered defense.

Another blast of wind sent Fuyumi skidding backward, and another water-caster closed in, forming a blade of ice that slashed toward her chest. Fuyumi phased just in time, her body becoming intangible, and the ice blade passed through her harmlessly. She countered with a yari again, the spear flickering into existence mid-strike, piercing the water caster’s side before vanishing once more.

As Fuyumi, Lillevenn and Birger continued to fight, Signe closed her eyes, losing herself in the rhythm of her own work. The ritual enchantment was close to completion, and with allies like these, she knew they would hold the line long enough for her to finish.

***

Joha felt the impact of the massive druid’s fist as a sharp pain that rattled all of his senses. Then there was darkness, pain and the familiar feeling he had long suppressed. It was the desire for blood, to cause pain and suffering. To pillage and burn. It was deep, sealed by the maya to be unreachable, so he would never be that demon again. Still it influenced him everytime he used the maya to kill. It threatened to drag him back into his old ways.

Everytime it was harder to resist. Killing was always so easy before. Taking what he wanted was second nature. The maya loved him, it wanted him to be…

“Free…” Joha whispered.

He had resisted for so long, he tried to be stronger, to bring joy and happiness, to help stop someone falling down the path he had fallen so long ago. His mind became muddled as the maya loosened its grasp on that which he had sealed deep within his subconscious. The truth of the KrodhaKshatra, Dominion of Rage, Sixth Form he made is that it wasn’t a true form of the Way of the Rakshasa, it was merely him fully unleashed from his inhibitions. He could tap into it to siphon portions of his old self for the power he contained. 

As the maya seeped through the cracks in his control, Joha’s muscles tensed, and his body began to change. His black fur rippled, vibrant red stripes snaking across it like veins of magma, branding him anew. He felt his bones shift, the sensation like knives scraping against his insides, as spikes jutted from his skin, piercing through his flesh to form a lethal armor of jagged bone. The maya was there as it always was, to comfort him, to whisper sweet nothings into his mind.

He let out a breath, only to see it billow into thick, black smoke—the maya pouring from his mouth, dark and toxic, like a fog of despair made manifest. As he stared out through his hazy, red-tinted vision, the world seemed to twist around him, as if welcoming the monster back into its fold. He had resisted this for so long, yet here it was, clawing its way out, demanding release. He felt a grim satisfaction but there was no surrender. He fought to stay himself but, piece by piece, the maya broke him down. What he felt, all he felt was the familiar, bloody madness. The maya wanted him to be…

“Free...” The word slipped from his lips, a low, guttural whisper that was barely recognizable as his own voice. “Free, free.”

His fingers flexed, the claws glistening, and he felt the power surge within him, reborn. There was no more Joha. The dam had broken, and in its place stood Rakta Damta, the Bloody Fang. His vision cleared just enough to reveal the devastation around him, though it was tinged in a dark red hue. He grinned, baring fangs that felt sharper, longer than before. He was unbound, and filled with a power he had denied himself for too long. Why? When the maya only wanted him to be…

“Free… I am free.” Rakta looked around. “Where the fuck am I?”

He peeled himself from the wall as he witnessed quite the sight before him. Wendigo fighting a colossus of a druid man wielding power like nothing he had seen from the demon continent. A sharp recollection hit him as his chest throbbed with pain. It was that druid that had the audacity to hit him. For now it was his enemy and it would be his prey. Then if he wanted, he could do something about the wendigo too. It could be fun.

*** 

The druid commander vanished without a trace before Tanisha could remove her head. She didn’t feel any magic, no teleportation spell, Blink or Flash Step. Kara was just gone the moment Tanisha’s bardiche would have hit flesh. She cautiously spun around and raised her guard just in case it was a trick to attack her from behind, but the attack never came. Tanisha was disappointed, but the feeling was overshadowed by the sudden realization she had lost herself momentarily to bloodlust. The thought made her pause, her heart pounding as she forced herself to calm down and ground her senses.

She turned to make sure she didn’t hurt Bjorn or Adelheid when she suddenly used Hydra Fire. Adelheid was shocked and still bleeding from the multiple stab wounds but okay with her healing factor. Bjorn looked fine although Tanisha could feel his concern through the bond. They were all injured. Tanisha's body was weak from the multiple arcane lightning strikes and cuts she endured. Had she not had her armor there was no doubt she would be dead.

“Did she teleport?” Adelheid asked, wincing as she pressed a hand to her side. “And did you just breathe fucking fire like a dragon?”

“Uh, I don’t know what happened to her, and kinda, more like a hydra than a dragon.” Tanisha said as she took out three potions from her inventory. “Are you going to be okay? I have lesser healing potions for all of us.”

Adelheid shook her head. “I will be fine. You and Bjorn take one.”

Tanisha undid the stoppers on her bottle and she and Bjorn both drank. She downed her potion, feeling the warmth spread through her limbs as the healing mended her torn muscles and numbed the lingering pain from the arcane lightning strikes. She then tossed the last bottle to Adelheid, who caught it with a reluctant frown. 

“Take it,” Tanisha demanded, her voice sharp. “We still have to take down the other one and you will die if you aren’t in peak condition.”

Adelheid grumbled but reluctantly drank the potion and immediately stood straighter once the pain she was feeling subsided. They all turned to the battle raging between the wendigo and large druid man fighting everyone at once. The battle was like nothing Tanisha had ever seen, not even when Isi were trying to escape the inner city of Lavi, what felt like a lifetime ago now.

The battle raged as the geokinetics were struggling to keep the room together. Even from a distance, Tanisha could see the difference in Joha’s movements, the feral intensity in his strikes, the way his body seemed to blur with maya and muscle, each motion a delicate balance of control and release. She’d seen Joha fight before, but not like this. Not with this kind of brutality, as if up until that moment he was always holding back a tide that threatened to consume him.

The battle was a dizzying blur of sword and claw, spell and fist, a violent symphony too fast for her to effectively track. Tanisha, Bjorn, and Adelheid crouched low, staying out of the fray, but close enough to feel the tremors as the mountain itself seemed to quake under the force of the combat.

Tanisha balled her fists, realizing there was nothing they could do but watch. She tried to focus, tried to make sense of the fight, but her eyes kept drifting back to Joha. He was fighting like he was teetering on the edge of something dark, it was something that both terrified and captivated her. For the first time, she felt the raw, primal danger that he had kept hidden behind his easy smiles and fatherly affection. It was another side of him that she had never seen. 

Identify
Name: Waddel of the Stones
Species: Druid
Level: ?? + 257
Vocation: Martyr of the Roots

The fight came to an abrupt halt when Joha plunged his fist through Waddell’s chest. The action alone was not enough to put the man down. Blood sprayed, and the druid's body quivered, but he wasn’t finished—not yet. Koll was right there, his black sword burning with crimson hex magic, and with a mighty roar, he swung, cleaving through Waddell's neck in a decisive arc. There was a brief moment of resistance before the blade slashed through and the head dropped free. 

Joha pulled his hand free and the body fell to the ground. Tanisha's heart leaped at the sight of Joha and Koll standing over the fallen foe. Relief and a fierce grin spread across her face. It was over. She rushed forward, arms outstretched, ready to embrace Joha and let this nightmare finally end. However, when she approached Koll stopped her, his sword still brimming with energy, but his eyes locked on to Joha. There was a tension in the air. 

She stopped short, confused, the smile fading as she glanced at Joha. There was something wrong—something deeply, terrifyingly wrong. He hadn’t even looked her way. His eyes, when they finally met hers, were empty of recognition. Gone was the familiar warmth and reassurance. In its place was a chilling stare that sent a shiver down her spine. It was as if she were staring at a stranger, one who wore Joha’s face but held none of his kindness. Everything from how he stood, to how he breathed and even the dark maya that surrounded his red and black fur was wrong.

“Now, who the fuck are you all supposed to be,” Joha said with a smirk. “Are we going to continue?”

Koll leveled his sword at Joha. “Stand down, Joha, we are on the same side, we need to get out of the fortress before it collapses.”

“What are you doing? Don’t point your sword at Joha!” Tanisha yelled as she stepped in front of Koll facing him. “We need to get mo–”

There was a flash of motion and Tanisha was off the ground held in the air by her neck. She reached up and grabbed the hand choking her to death from behind. Claws cut into her armor as if it were fabric and biting into her neck. She saw Bjorn move jaws open as he lunged forward only for blood to follow shortly after.

“No one asked you, bitch,” he snarled, his voice a venomous mockery of Joha’s “The name is Rakta, not Joha, so let's not ruin the fun now.”

Koll lunged, forcing Joha—Rakta—to release her. She fell to her knees, coughing and gasping for air, her constitution helping her to find her breath. Her hands trembled as she dragged herself toward Bjorn, her heart hammering against her ribs as she beheld the horror before her. One of Bjorn’s heads was gone, ripped away with brutal force, while the others hung by a thread of torn muscle and shattered bone. Blood pooled beneath him, and he lay utterly still.

“N-no. No no no no.” Tanisha stuttered disbelief clouding any reason she could muster. “B-Bjorn… Joha…” 

Her gaze snapped back to Rakta and Koll, now locked in a fierce battle, each strike of Koll’s blade met by Rakta’s claws. He was on the back foot though. Rakta was already faltering, his movements sluggish, blood dripping from wounds that refused to close as hexes took hold of his body. He knew, and she could see it too—he was losing. He breathed out another cloud of maya obscuring everyone's sight and vanished.

Tanisha knelt there, Bjorn’s blood soaking into her clothes, her heart breaking as the weight of it all sank in. She stared at the spot where Joha had been, unable to comprehend how it had come to this—how the man she had trusted, admired, had become something so monstrous. Was this where she was headed? Would she become this monster too?