HankTheMoose
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3.49 The Confluence 4
🕑 Added 2025-03-17 15:38:11 +0000 UTCFor a few seconds, the pressure built in Bernt’s head so much that he saw spots in his vision. Then, just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. The pain disappeared with it, as if it had never been and the sand that had felt as though it were cooking his face just a moment before now felt nothing so much as pleasantly warm.
Something was moving inside his body, tickling uncomfortably as it progressed downward from the crown of his head.
Bernt shuddered at the odd sensation, realizing only after a few seconds that he could sense mana moving through the affected areas. It was the elemental’s investiture, and it was pushing its way into his spirit.
The complex mess of channels had stretched through his arm, up through his neck and latched onto a broken channel in his head. The alien investiture slowly unraveled inside Bernt, connecting to the ragged edges where his mana network had been torn apart. Each time a connection was made, a part of the new investiture melted into Bernt’s spirit with a strange tickling sensation, creating the odd wriggling feeling that had drawn his attention.
Every time this happened, entire sections of alien-looking runes near the points of contact would unravel before splitting and branching over and over as they wormed deeper and deeper into Bernt’s flesh and organs, reaching across to his left side without forming any additional connections to his normal mana network. His instincts screamed at him to try to push the invader out, but he ruthlessly suppressed the urge. A moment ago, he was as good as dead. He’d seen one chance to save himself, and now he was committed. Even if he could remove it, he would be crippled, unable to cast. He would die, either to the heat or to the demons.
Eyes blinking open, Bernt saw the hellhound approach through the searing heat. It wasn’t hurrying, which suggested that it didn’t think there was going to be a fight. They thought he was dead.
That should be an advantage, but whatever the elemental’s power was doing to him, it wasn’t doing it quickly enough. The annoying tickling sensation was traveling down his body, but it had only just passed below his navel. New channels were digging into his guts there now, forming a dense web. But the hellhound would be on him in a few seconds.
He didn’t know what the elemental had done, exactly, or what it would mean for his spellcasting. But he could sense the mana moving through him, and he could physically feel it pouring through his sorcerous channels – both those in his arm, and the new ones that were still unfolding side him. The mana network’s system wasn’t properly closed yet, but still, his mana flowed. That shouldn’t have worked, but Bernt wasn’t in a position to analyze it now.
Carefully, Bernt let his eyes close again, tried to ignore the annoying sensations and began to visualize the spellform for banefire. He needed to buy as much time as he could for his spirit to finish whatever it was doing. As an afterthought, he tried to activate his belt, only to find that he couldn’t – something was wrong with it.
The soft crunching of sand under demonic paws reached his ears as the hellhound reached him. The tickling sensation had only reached his knee – he wasn’t ready, but it would have to do. Gritting his teeth, he opened his eyes and swung his arm around, blasting a bolt of banefire directly into the hound’s face.
At least, that was what he tried to do.
The spell came out nearly transparent, sorely underpowered – but it still struck the thing in the face. It reeled back with a very un-doglike hiss and shook its head back and forth as if trying to fling the fire off. A voice called out, and Bernt felt the warlock’s attack on his mind like an irritating scratching directly on his brain. Despite that, the magic didn’t take. His eyes locked on the possessed Duergar, who narrowed his eyes in annoyance.
Just then, something hit Bernt in the back so hard that he stumbled forward a step. He gasped and pain stabbed through his chest. What was that? A soft hiss sounded and an arrow whizzed by, flying through the spot where he’d just been.
They had archers? Had he been shot?
He whirled looking for the attackers to find the two cultists he’d seen skirting around the confluence earlier. One of them was holding a bow, knocking another arrow, while the other spun what looked like a bit of rope in his hand. Was that a sling? Who still used slings?
Cursing to himself, Bernt cast a force shield in front of himself. It was slow, but attacking would be worse. He couldn’t hit both of them at the same time, so striking one would expose him to the other without a proper defense. As the force barrier materialized in front of him, Bernt spared a glance for the warlock, who barked a few words in a foreign language to its goons.
They spread out hesitantly around the depression that surrounded the confluence. They looked like a sorry lot, armed with rusty spears and knives, and the occasional bit of armor, but there were quite a few of them – ten, he guessed at a glance. None of them looked eager to take a run at him, but Bernt remembered the dwarf from his first encounter earlier. He needed to be careful.
Distracted by the enemies moving all around Bernt almost forgot about the hellhound, whose hisses had turned to screaming yowls as the fire ate away its face. It still threw itself from side to side, its eyes now nothing but empty pits surrounded by bubbling skin.
The weak spell didn’t have the intensity to kill the demon outright, but he’d cast it through his sorcerous investiture, giving it the properties of his perpetual flame. Whatever the elemental had done, that still worked exactly as it should. It would continue to burn until he extinguished it – the hellhound was as good as dead.
A stone struck the shield with incredible force, pushing through it to plop listlessly against Bernt’s armored robe. The barrier was weak compared to what a skilled force mage like Therion could do, but it worked well enough to rob the projectile of most of its momentum. That slinger really did have terrifyingly good aim, though. An arrow followed, but missed even more widely than the one before it – not even striking the shield.
He needed to do something quickly. The confluence provided him with some protection, but the other cultists were already picking up rocks to throw at him. Unable to think of an immediate solution, Bernt cast another force shield, curving it to connect to the other one protecting himself from all sides. Rocks began to pelt it almost immediately, though these just bounced off, not carrying nearly the same kind of force as those of the slinger.
He was going to be stoned to death by a mob. Like an evil warlock in a children’s story.
Just as he had the thought, fire engulfed him from the side. Bernt flinched back, instinctively certain that he was about to die, only to realize that nothing was happening. The flames reeked of sulfur, but they passed over his skin like a warm breeze. The hellhound’s still-burning and now half consumed head swept back and forth as hellfire spewed out of its mouth like a dragon. Then something popped with a small wet sound in its head and it collapsed.
Bernt looked down at the creature in surprise. How had it learned to breathe hellfire? Could Jori learn to do that? And how was he fine?
He’d been hit with hellfire and felt nothing. He was totally immune.
He coughed out a laugh that quickly transitioned into a chuckle – an expression of pure relief more than humor. Fire couldn’t touch him. The chuckle turned into a shout as more rocks hit his force shields, and finally a roar of rage.
These people had followed a demon over the mountains. They’d hunted through the Phoenix Reaches to find him, and now they were throwing rocks at him like a pack of angry villagers. And for what? What could that warlock or his masters have possibly promised them for this?
Bernt lobbed a fireball high over his force shield, aiming for the slinger. He noted absently that the flames looked different than he was used to. It was still mostly white with an unnatural liquid appearance, but the edges were now tinged with flickers of yellow and orange. His target had plenty of time to dodge, but he didn’t care. He was already casting again. As the spell splashed down on the rocks, Bernt cast a basic control fire cantrip and sent the everburning flames careening sideways directly into his target. A second later, he tore them away again, striking the archer, who was already running.
He didn’t have much time before his first force shield would run out of mana and collapse, so he kept the fireball moving, striking one cultist after another. They started to run when they realized what was happening, but he didn’t stop. Shaped properly, the bolt of flame could vaporize flesh in a small area, killing quickly just as long as he hit vital areas.
He did his best, but gasping screams still rang from those where he failed. He’d have to go back to put them out of their misery later.
***
Six of Zijeregh’s cultists went down before she admitted to herself that this wasn’t going to work. She released their wills from her control, allowing the survivors to break and run. It had been a mistake to rely on mortals and thralls. Her hellhound was gone and the imp was still missing – it had never returned from its reconnaissance. All in all, a disaster. She’d thought it was already done, but the mortal had only been playing dead. He had shaken off her compulsion, somehow.
But it was still just a single mortal.
As the flames leapt toward her vessel, Zijeregh called out, reaching out with her voice to seize the will of her prey once more.
“Calm yourself,” she said, adopting a soothing tone. “Do not resist the inevitable, and do as all mortals must.” The specific words didn’t really matter so much as the intent behind her voice, but Zijeregh still preferred to instruct her prey. It just felt right.
The flames splashed down on the ground nearby, but the human didn’t drop to the ground as he should have. His eyes locked on her, and she could see light flickering out from behind them. Something was wrong. He advanced toward her and raised a hand as if to cast another spell.
Zijeregh tried again, backing up to create a little more distance. “It is useless. Why try? Just lie down in the sand.”
No fire materialized, but he kept coming. He was resistant, somehow. Except that shouldn’t be possible. A mortal was a mortal. Their souls were hers.
The mortal didn’t try to cast again. Instead, he drew a slightly warped dagger from the remains of a mostly carbonized belt and rushed at her. Zijeregh reached for her own dagger, wishing once more that she was here in her own body. She could have crushed this sniveling creature in seconds, with or without magic. As it was, it might take her as long as a minute.
***
Bernt saw the feral grin spread across the Warlock’s face as he advanced on him, knife in hand. He knew he wasn’t much of a hand-to-hand fighter – even less so without his belt – but he had to try something. Sure, Bernt might be able to outrun a single warlock, but if he did, the warlock would be able to summon more demons behind him. Not that he’d be outrunning anyone any time soon. His boots were crumbling off of his feet, burnt black by either the hound’s hellfire or the extended exposure to the heat of the conjunction.
The possessed Duergar drew a long dagger of its own and dropped into what looked like a practiced stance, speaking at him in its strange language once more. The magic scrabbled irritatingly at his mind once more and Bernt grimaced in discomfort. If he got into a fight with that thing, he was going to get gutted.
Fortunately, that hadn’t been his plan – he just wanted to make sure the damned creature would be too close to dodge this time.
Dropping the knife, Bernt poured mana into his palm unshaped and flung it at the Duergar as hard as he could. Manaburn wasn’t as good against demons as banefire, but it should do perfectly against possessed warlocks. They had mana networks, after all – spirits that he should be able to ignite.
What struck the enemy warlock, though, wasn’t the liquid white fire that he was familiar with. The torrent of mostly natural-looking flames that tore from his body was fuelled by far more mana than he intended, and the spell pulled at his spirit as it left his hand. It washed over the hapless dwarf, engulfing him entirely before surging high and swirling to form a pillar, like a tiny tornado of death.
In stunned confusion, Bernt stared at the man-sized firestorm in front of him. He could feel it in his mind, a separate rudimentary sort of will, still echoing with the intent and the state of mind he’d been in when he cast it. It wasn’t truly separate from him – no more than the mana that he’d used to cast it.
Bernt’s mana network felt… thin. It wasn’t strained, as it had been when he’d overused it months earlier, but it was weaker. He was weaker. In a flash of intuition Bernt understood what must have happened. He – or the new parts of his mana network – had somehow infused part of his spirit into his spell. It contained a portion of his magical potential, and his will with it.
Unwilling to test just how long this effect might last before he lost it permanently, Bernt tried to mentally command the… spell? Elemental?... to return to him. Nothing happened.
Carefully, he approached the odd spell creature and, when he didn’t sense any changes from its mind, extended a hand to touch it. As soon as he did, it lost cohesion and its mana dispersed into the environment as the missing bit of his soul simply dissolved back into his mana network, strengthening it again.
Where the enemy warlock had been, nothing but a light dusting of ash remained.
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I'm kind of worried that I'm underselling Zijeregh, what do you guys think? She's very powerful, but she essentially gets checkmated into an unfavorable confrontation. Does that come through in the story, or do you guys think that needs to be made clearer in earlier chapters?
Edit: thanks for your help guys, I'm going to tweak the RR version of this chapter a bit, and also insert some more stuff in prior chapters for the final release to give us a better feel for this part.
Comments
HankTheMoose
It's all of the above. I'm gonna make a few tweaks for the RR version to try to disambiguate the situation a bit, and to try to give it at least a little more of a boss fight feeling.
Leonard Marchant
She wasn't able to stop him casting even slightly, that was a trick burnt used so he was close enough.
Leonard Marchant
I'm not sure that's true, I'm not even sure he got an immediate power upgrade. The main thing is that he was resistant to her mind magic. The second thing is that her thralls were shit, as well as the body she inhabited. The deck was stacked.
James A. Murphy
he just got a huge power upgrade that might be why she seems weak
Stephen Pearson
Honestly it's kind of hilarious and cool that he nuked a medium bad whose name he knows without even realizing it, nor that he was sending her straight to Jori for her final send off:-)
Alexander Smith
I think she seems a bit weak. :( maybe more from her pov idk
LeoClashes
Tftc! knocking another arrow -> nocking another arrow
Armo
YOOOOOOO BERNT! BERNT! BERNT!
In-Game_Name
I think it makes sense that's she's strong - she was able to stop him from casting fully, but she still got hard countered by a half elemental. That is kinda the flaw with "save or die" both in writing or DND. The main character has to save or they die, it leaves you with less options to write a confrontation. I think you handled this pretty well, only thing I could think of doing slightly differently is if she holds onto one or two humans as meat shields but I don't think she thinks she would need them.
sri kalyan mulukutla
May be add some minor back story of how strong she is? Like a tale told by other imps or jori?
HankTheMoose
He doesn't quite get it himself yet, that's going to be the next chapter. I didn't want him trying to do a full wtf just happened analysis in the middle of a fight.
yosef melul
I’m pretty confused over what Brent did to himself. Did he weaken his mana network again?
