Mangowo
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Chapter 83: A Phantom in the Chaos
🕑 Added 2024-11-21 00:30:02 +0000 UTC[Welp, I was this close to tossing the first half of this chapter into the literary scrap heap. But something in me just couldn’t resist diving into the bizarre chaos of swapping senses mid-battlefield. The sheer, brain-bending overload it would cause? Too wild not to explore. Telling it outright felt like cheating; showing it, though? Now that was a beast to wrestle. Anyway, I gave it a go. It... kind of works? Ish? Maybe? Welp, here’s hoping. Happy reading!]
Maelric held the line, unyielding against the encroaching tide of beasts. Poor bastards didn’t stand a chance—or so he told himself. Yet, he couldn't ignore the disconcerting surge in their numbers. It was as if something—or someone—was rallying them, directing the grotesque horde straight to their doorstep. His shield, steadfast and enchanted with corrosive magic, absorbed the brunt of their assault.
A particularly audacious monkey-like creature sprang at him. One well-timed deflection saw the shield’s enchantment kick in, corroding the unfortunate beast on contact. A heartbeat later, a spear whistled past Maelric’s ear, burying itself neatly in the creature’s skull.
He might have offered his comrade a cheeky grin if not for the masks obscuring their faces. Ah, yes. The masks. A minor obstacle, but he grinned anyway. The battle raged on, relentless, and with Arbiter Elnor’s gaze boring into them like a hawk sizing up its prey, Maelric knew better than to grow complacent. No, the man hadn’t moved an inch, and Maelric’s gut twisted with suspicion. This had the trappings of a test, didn’t it? A secret examination, perhaps? Surely, the Order was sizing them up, selecting the best and brightest to serve alongside the nobility at last.
The thought fueled his resolve, and his grin widened. Oh, today was not the day to disappoint. Sword in hand, mana coursing through his veins like liquid fire, he surged forward. His blade shimmered with flickers of corrosive energy as it plunged into yet another monster. A shield bash sent another sprawling, only for the spears of his comrades to finish the job. The vanguard held firm.
But then—something shifted. The monsters ahead grew erratic, their movements frenzied. They clawed at the earth, the trees, and even each other, their screeches morphing into something unearthly. Maelric’s brow furrowed as he glanced left and right, unease prickling at his spine. And then it hit him.
A bitter, metallic taste flooded his senses—a sound, yet not quite a sound, like the scream of a dying melody. He staggered back, his shield slipping from his grasp and shattering upon the blood-soaked ground. His vision swam, pupils contracting to eerie, glowing pinpricks as a cold, numbing sensation crawled up his throat.
He gasped—an involuntary, jagged noise that tasted of blood and frost. Clutching his neck, he gagged, his breath billowing out in icy plumes. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t natural. And it wasn’t stopping.
Maelric staggered.
His breath hitched, each inhale jagged, fractured. The battlefield twisted around him, splintering into shards of chaos that slammed into his senses. The air itself was wrong—heavy, cloying, a suffocating blanket laced with iron and bile.
Snarls and howls blended into a vile cacophony, a sound not meant for mortal ears. It crawled beneath his skin, digging icy claws into his nerves. He shook his head, desperate to clear it, but the world refused to settle. Each attempt only smeared his vision further into jagged, bleeding shapes.
Metal screamed—not the clash of blades, but something sharper, brighter. A piercing note exploded in his mind, white-hot streaks carving through the blood-soaked haze. He blinked hard, but the trails burned on, searing against the chaos. Too much. Far too much.
The stench—sweat, blood, molten iron—howled through his senses like a storm, unrelenting and suffocating. His hands shot to his head, desperate for relief that refused to come. His boots skidded, the ground beneath him no longer solid but a sticky mire pulling him down with each step.
"Maelric! Hold the line!"
The voice sliced through the din, cold and sharp as ice, cutting into his skin like invisible razors. He turned, struggling against the tide of nausea. His vision swam, catching only distorted smudges of crimson and violet, colors that pulsed and throbbed, pressing against his skull.
His sword felt wrong—foreign, grotesque in his hand. The hilt scraped like jagged stone against his fingers, every movement sending electric pain stabbing up his arm. He clenched his jaw, but his teeth bit down on the taste of glass, bitter and grinding, splintering through his mind.
A blur. Movement. No—more than sight, a smell. Burning flesh. Acidic venom. Needles stabbing his face. A beast loomed before him, massive and grotesque, its gaping maw dripping poison. Instinct screamed, driving his blade forward in a blind arc.
The strike connected—or did it? His arm reverberated with a muted thud, the sensation dulled and alien. No sound confirmed his blow, no feedback except the maddening, hollow vibration crawling through his bones. Was it enough? He didn’t know. He couldn’t know.
His chest burned, veins running cold with jagged fire. His knees buckled, and he crashed to the earth, gasping, choking on air that felt like sludge. Each breath pulled in grey clouds, coiling tight around him. Each exhale sent a tremor through the ground, a low, menacing hum that rattled his teeth.
He clutched his head, a scream clawing its way out of his throat. "MAKE IT STOP!"
Writhing. Thrashing. Time lost all meaning.
Then, silence.
The world flipped upside down, the chaos collapsing into a singular, horrifying clarity. His vision locked onto two baleful, slitted eyes, madness swirling in their flickering depths. A distortion, shimmering and unreal, stood before him.
His body was gone—no pain, no weight. Just the faint awareness of his head, his thoughts scattering into the void. And yet, for the briefest moment, there was peace.
Then, nothing.
***
The poison’s effect was slow to manifest—fair play, given it was airborne. It needed a touch of time to seep into the delicate systems of these Elves. But once it did… oh, the results were nothing short of magnificent. With my Technique active, I became a flickering blur, darting through the cacophony of screeching monsters and screaming Elves. My claws found another whimpering, masked Elf, swiftly granting him release from his misery.
Notifications chimed merrily, tallying my kills, but I gave them no mind. My focus was set firmly on the prize: Elnor. Oh, yes, the illustrious leader had twigged that something was amiss. Of course, by then, it was a touch too late. For the first time, I saw his icy composure crack, his mask slipping as he bellowed orders to his faltering warriors. But with every breath they drew, more of them succumbed to my poison. It was delightful to watch.
The healers were present, but to counter a poison of this calibre? They’d need a personal touch—quite literally—to diagnose and purge it with their magic. A shame for them, really, as I had no intention of letting them live long enough to try. One by one, I tore through the vanguard, striking swiftly while Elnor flailed amidst the chaos. He barked orders, desperate to corral his crumbling ranks, but the pandemonium was simply too perfect. My little concoction had worked wonders.
Four of the vanguard had fallen already, and Elnor remained blissfully unaware of my precise movements, the chaos serving as my perfect cloak. Behind him, the mages began to falter, their erratic movements betraying that the poison had wormed its way into their systems. Another vanguard fighter lunged at me, but with a deft dodge and a flick of my claws, I silenced their screams with a neat slice to the throat. Justice served.
My tail lashed out next, coiling around a feline monstrosity, pulling the thrashing creature closer until I ended its wailing torment. Flamethrower? Too ostentatious for this little dance. Echo Claw Swipe sufficed to make short work of squishy Elven necks, and I carved my way through the chaos with elegant precision. Every second, the disarray deepened, and I simply kept to my work. Methodical. Unrelenting.
The chaos surged like a tide, swallowing everything in its path. By now, nearly half the Elves and an equal number of monsters had succumbed to my poison’s tender embrace, their senses betraying them—swapping, shifting, spiraling into disarray. And it would only grow worse.
They toppled in droves: five, seven, nine. Another vanguard crumpled before me, and my sights settled on the first healer. He was hunched over, desperately trying to mend a screeching, writhing Elf. Beside him, a Delver mage stood guard, her piercing blue eyes locking onto me as I approached.
Before she could summon her mana, I was upon her. A shield shimmered into existence, predictable as clockwork. But I passed through it as though it were mist, a phantom in motion. Her widening eyes betrayed her disbelief, but no words escaped her lips—only the wet choke of my claws piercing her throat.
The healer screamed, stumbling backward, but before I could pounce, my perception spun into disarray. Without hesitation, I dashed twice in rapid succession, instincts screaming. A razor-thin arc of wire-like energy hissed through the air above me, slicing cleanly through the monsters behind. It didn’t stop until it reached the treeline, severing everything in its path.
I knew who was responsible. Elnor. The game was up—he’d finally clocked my presence. I had no inkling of his chosen Path, only fragmented clues: monsters felled by clean, surgical strikes, heads, claws, and limbs lopped off with eerie precision.
A part of me idly wished the poison might touch him as well, but if he’d achieved the Red Core? That was wishful thinking at best. The leap from Yellow to Red was transformative—a reconstruction of the body itself. Constitution, strength, mana—all amplified to staggering heights. No, poison was likely a pipe dream where he was concerned.
His gaze burned with seething hatred as he unsheathed his blade once more, the metal gleaming ominously. I didn’t wait for the inevitable. The next wave of flashing steel erupted, and I darted away, using more of his precious Elves as unwilling shields. Grinning, I slashed through another of his warriors, their blood mingling with the chaos around us.
Elnor’s movements faltered as I ducked behind another of his warriors. So, even in this pandemonium, he hesitated at the risk of friendly fire. Intriguing. Useful. Or so I thought—until another arc of silvery light swept sideways, threading through his comrades to chase me down. Clever. Metal magic, no doubt, and with that infernal Red Core strength backing it up, he was leagues beyond me. I had no delusions of grandeur; facing him directly was a fool’s errand.
All I needed was to lure him far enough from his post so I could slip past and phase through their barrier. Once inside, I’d unleash my lightning magic to reduce their altars to rubble. Time wasn’t on my side, so as soon as his gaze locked onto me, I made the only sensible choice.
I RAN.
Wings unfurled as I dove into the underbrush, dodging five rapid flashes of silvery arcs that sliced indiscriminately through the chaos. I couldn’t even pinpoint where Elnor was amidst the carnage; the arcs seemed to come from everywhere. No choice but to move. I dashed again and again in rapid succession, my form a streak of distortion, stamina dipping dangerously low. Activating the reservoir brought it back to 60, buying me a few precious moments.
Eventually, the slashes ceased. Had I lost him? Excellent. With Elnor lured out of position, sneaking past those pesky Elven bastards would be a breeze. I could almost taste success.
Yes—
“I certainly don’t know who you are or how you’re puppeteering this creature.”
The gravelly voice cut through the air like a dagger, freezing me mid-step. My eyes widened. Just at the edge of my vision, in a small clearing, stood a warrior clad in black. A runic sword rested in his hand, faintly pulsing with menace.
“But if you don’t stop fucking with my body and mana this instant,” he snarled, his tone dripping with venom, “I swear on Selene’s name, I’ll tear you apart and hang you up like a fucking trophy.”
Elnor.
His piercing eyes weren’t on me, though. They were fixed just over my wings, his movements unnervingly deliberate as he advanced.
“Show yourself,” he demanded, his voice a low growl, “before I make you.”
Comments
Connor Higdon
The woman from before was a dragon in human form, I think
Bramble
It seems like the woman might be the Nightmare but I don't think that was explicitly stated. Also I'm not convinced the Nightmare is human.
Shelbo
Good chappy, I enjoyed seeing how the poison effected the elves
Shelbo
Really? I would have thought it was that woman from a couple chapters before that saw Jade get caught by those adventurers. Unless that’s nightmare and I’m just forgetting
AwesumCoolNinja
Seems like it is The Nightmare, she was mentioned to be watching Jade as she took her earlier revenge. Jade's conversation with the elf likely made her follow Jade's made up story as a form of entertainment for herself, thus she started masking Jade from divination magic to match her story.
Amelgar
huh... I really hope he is looking at nothing right now... kinda terrifying otherwise
