ImmovableMage
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277 Reaching the Limits
🕑 Added 2026-01-24 00:00:01 +0000 UTC– Era of the Wastes, Cycle 220, Season of the Setting Sun, Day 5 –
“Urgh…” Terry was in his chamber with his head on his desk.
Too much exercise.
Too much reading.
Sleep. Merciful sleep. Just take me.
“Not. Yet.” Terry pushed his weary head back up. He had always enjoyed training and research, but here, in the Court of Gods, he had discovered his limits.
Swen is even worse than Devon when I met him. On top of lacking any perspective for a mortal’s basic needs, the guy has absolutely no sense of time.
Not that I can blame him.
Not like I corrected him.
“Just a bit more,” groaned Terry.
That’s what you said last time. The last twenty times. You’re worse than Swen in the pits!
“Oof, I really need some sleep,” admitted Terry. He couldn’t remember the last time his intrusive thoughts had gotten this obnoxiously omnipresent.
That’s what trying to catch up with literal gods does to a mage.
A great crash-course in feeling pathetically inadequate.
“Enough!” Terry slapped his cheeks, which hurt more than it should.
Stupid physical pits leaving me sore, and stronger than I remember.
Did I mention sore?
Terry rubbed his eyes and forced himself to focus on the paperwork in front of him. He had cut down on sleep a lot when Swen had mentioned the serpent god Terry had pissed off.
Terry had thought about getting some last-minute accelerated training regime, and, against his better judgement, asked Swen to help along.
Turns out phrases like ‘soon’ or ‘last-minute’ have a different meaning for an ancient vampire. Who could have known?
Everyone. That’s who. Everyone except stupid Terry.
“Shut it,” hissed Terry. “I swear I’m taking a nap afterwards. Screw Swen. Fuck the False Gods. I need a break.”
Swen’s potty-mouth is rubbing off on you.
“Urgh…” Terry groaned. He shook his head and looked over the papers on his desk.
With all the physique improvement exercises in the pits and his own mana foundational training regime, Terry had to cram all his theoretical work into less and less time.
Even now, Terry paired his reading and note-taking with mana exercises for both himself and Oz. While Oz was working on covering his mithril-armor in something less ominous than the absolute darkness of a moonless night, Terry had his honeycomb refractors set up all around him to collect his own liquified mana.
Glorified feeding tubes.
Terry hadn’t had found much use for the external liquified mana besides a welcome treat for his shadow slime. His initial dreams of using the liquid mana like other mages used water quickly evaporated under the completely expected effect of mana decay.
No drowning others or other offensive uses.
Or any uses, really.
Perhaps the living Faithless Saint was right, after all. Just because he’s old, doesn’t mean he’s senile.
“Focus,” hissed Terry. His eyes wandered over his different reading materials.
The concept ritual he might acquire with the Blasphemer’s help.
The list of blessings they might trade for.
I still find it ironic that the Blasphemer of all people has multiple blessings. Double ironic that one of the blessings is from the Twin-Gods of Death.
The Blasphemer had been raised as an assassin by the cults and performed his tasks mercilessly… until the Veilbinder had been chosen as his target shortly before the Second Great Crisis.
The Veilbinder had defeated the elven assassin and shown mercy by giving him a second chance. A chance he never had to regret. Whenever the Veilbinder was absent, the Blasphemer carried one of the brightest torches for those refusing to submit to the False Gods.
Terry knew that others of the Faithless Saints had been blessed by gods, too. Not all gods were as overbearing as the Twins. Some were even sympathetic to the struggles of mortals.
A person could only undergo a single concept ritual, but could hold multiple blessings.
The Veilbinder himself had been blessed by three gods as far as the Path of a Mage recorded.
By a minor goddess of moonlight, hunting, and freedom.
By a god of eternity and endurance.
By a fresh goddess of death the Veilbinder himself helped create.
Danai of the Merciful Death. The first goddess ascended in Terry’s native realm. The first and only faithless goddess, and a goddess no one outside the Twin-Death realms ever heard of. A goddess that ascended the thrones left empty by the Twins, only to tear them down and liberate all the marked and doomed souls in their purview.
Danai the Faithless Believer. The Faithless Saint that had reached, and rejected godhood in a single day.
Danai the Merciful, who sacrificed her mortal life to liberate the souls shackled by the dead gods.
“Focus.” Terry hissed when he caught himself day-dreaming. “The Blasphemer is pouring an insane amount of resources into my training. The least I can do is make up my damned mind.”
The Blasphemer had stressed to Terry that the entire idea of bringing him into the arena is a gamble. The ancient hero claimed it was possible to get Terry 80% there, but that the last 20% was where gods go to die and that’s where every little bit helped get an edge over the regular parasites.
The only reason concept rituals and blessings were offered for trades and purchase was that they couldn’t push someone that far. A ritual concept could never compete with the real thing. A blessing paled compared to the benefits of a channeling anchor, much less to the original source residing in the god on the other end.
Terry had trouble even believing the 80% claim. The training was hellish. The progress was undeniable, but the idea of standing in an arena with literal gods was terrifying.
80% of the weakest lesser god, and only in the physique department. Look at you, finally taking care of the weakness that is your pathetic body!
Too bad the mana foundation you pride yourself in will be a useless drop in the bucket. No chance to compete against faith users in mana. Guess the poor Faithless Saint will have to make up the difference.
“Enough!” snapped Terry. His eyes drifted away from the list of blessings and concepts to a book from the Sun Elves in the Realm of Wrath.
Don’t! Get that idea out of your head!
You know it’s insane! When I’m the voice of reason, you know it to be true!
“I should sleep,” admitted Terry. He stood up with his eyes lingering just another moment on the book before examining all his honeycomb refractors.
Terry shook his head. He put on his dungeon necklace and dumped his remaining mana into the chamber to increase the necklace’s absorption rate when trying to mimic the ambient mana signature. If he had to sleep, he wanted to at least train his mana regeneration properly.
***
“Here,” the goblin held out Terry’s protective necklace.
I wonder what Sigille would say about her crystal pendant being modified by gods.
Terry had commissioned a set of modifications from Bulgur’s faction of crafting gods.
First, an increase of its internal capacity, with an adjustment in maximum output-throughput to account for the change in capacity. If Terry had to fight gods, he felt his defensive trump card required some extra oomph.
Second, an ability to passively absorb ambient mana as an alternative to Terry having to fill it up. Terry figured he needed every drop of his mana for training.
Right when Terry was about to accept the pendant, Swen snatched it from the goblin god’s grasp.
Terry’s brain tried to keep up with everything he observed in that mere instant. The slight change in the god’s expression. The angry flicker in the Blasphemer’s soul. The way Swen’s presence increased and aimed for the crafting goblin.
“What’s going on here?” Bulgur himself left his abode because of the obvious change in atmosphere.
“What’s going is that I think we should call the Order,” growled Swen with his eyes fixed on the lesser crafting god that had accepted their commission to modify Terry’s pendant.
Terry noted a trembling in the lesser god’s soul at Swen’s words.
“Perhaps we should,” said the lesser god.
Terry heard the words, but the nonchalant tone rang hollow when accompanied by the trembling of the speaker’s soul.
Swen scoffed and grinned mirthlessly. “I can smell this damned bullshit from miles away.” He lifted his hand and with the chain around his fingers he let the pendant fall to be visible to anyone present. “Terry, list the specifications of your commission exactly.”
Terry did as asked.
“So, Bulgur, what’s going on?” asked Swen while glowering at the lesser god from Bulgur’s crafting abode.
Bulgur frowned. He looked at his underling and demanded. “Melvin, the capacity adjustment is missing the concept of holding.”
“That mortal cheated me,” hissed the lesser god.
“We paid the credits exactly as agreed, you little parasite,” growled Swen. The Blasphemer reacted viscerally to the tone in which this god used the word ‘mortal’ like it was the worst insult imaginable.
“I shit on your credits,” hissed Melvin. “I didn’t know the mortal brat had mithril when I agreed to the commission. If he wants my concept, then I expect to be paid in mithril.”
Terry could feel Melvin targeting him with presence.
This bloody fucker!
Terry’s mana roared forward, half of it stopping right at his skin to push against the god’s presence, while the remaining half rushed further and impacted right on the stupid goblin’s face.
In front of the unexpected counter-assault, the god flinched before his cheeks flushed from anger. “You dare defy a god, you unworthy little—!”
“Order!” said Swen. It was almost a whisper, but from the reactions, it might as well have been a thunderous shout.
“What?!” Panic entered Melvin’s eyes. “No, please.” His pleading gaze shifted to indignant fury. “Mortals have no right to—” He remembered that he was in the Court. “No, please!”
“There’s no need for that, is there, Swen?” Bulgur intervened. He knew his underling was in the wrong, and in front of the Judge’s Order, this would be a death sentence. “I personally vouch that Melvin will complete the commission as specified.”
Wait a second!
Before Terry had any chance to get angry himself, the Blasphemer was already snapping at the crafting god.
“You’re damned right, the shithead will!” Swen glared at Melvin before shifting his gaze to Melvin. “But that’s just what was promised in the first place. This piss-stain parasite tried to cheat us!”
Exactly.
Melvin blew a fuse. “You mortals should know your place! You—”
“That’s enough Melvin.” Bulgur threw his presence out, which instantly silenced the lesser god.
Bulgur frowned. Even if he wanted to agree with Melvin, there was nothing he could do in the face of the Judge’s Order. Melvin was too valuable an asset to abandon, so he was forced to make concessions to the mortals. “I know you’ve inquired about concept rituals. On top of the commission, I’ll personally guarantee whichever ritual you pick.”
“You’re going to do it for free,” stressed Swen. “In addition to being inviolable and error-correcting, it will be masked and cloaked. Everyone involved will pledge secrecy in front of the Order. You’re also going to call in that favor from the greys to let them supply their purified mana.”
Bulgur opened his mouth. “That’s—”
“And we’ll invite the Order to supervise the entire ordeal,” continued Swen with cold eyes. “And he is going to pay for it.” Swen pointed at Melvin. “He’s also going to grant Terry an inviolable blessing.”
“WHAT?!” Melvin burst out once more. “To sacrifice a part of my divinity for that—”
“Not just any part, parasite.” Swen cut him off. “You’re going to grant him an inviolable blessing of permanence, which will also be supervised by the Order.”
Melvin’s green-ish skin had nearly turned completely red. “YOU—”
“Fine,” acceded Bulgur. He hated dealing with the faithless immortal. The mortal asked much, but just below what Bulgur considered to be the worth of keeping Melvin alive and working in his abode.
The damned blasphemous cretin knew exactly how far he could push. A trait not often seen in mortals, given their short lifespan. Unfortunately, the obstinate vampire had also collected significant resources and just like he knew how far he could push, the foulmouth also often knew just what to offer in his barters.
Bulgur sighed and moved his eyes away from Swen to glower at Melvin. “Don’t make this worse.”
Swen placed the unfinished pendant back on the counter and pulled Terry away. “No word until we’re back in the Order’s chambers.”
***
“Motherfuckers!” Swen shouted the moment the chamber’s doors had closed. His shout was accompanied by a punch to the walls. There was enough force behind it to crush his own fingers, but with an aura of blood, the injury immediately restored itself.
“Parasites! All of them!” Swen’s mana flared. “I HATE THEM SO FUCKING MUCH!”
Terry flinched. He had seen a few of Swen’s outbursts, but this one was worse than all those before. “We got something out of it, at least.”
A lot, actually.
I can see why Day set up the Leviathan as the Judge. With the Order as an impartial arbiter, even the gods can’t act like they wish.
“Oh, we’re getting more than that,” growled Swen. “They should know better by now than to take me lightly. Bastards. All of them.” He scoffed. “I’ll show them what a faithless mortal can do. I’ll keep showing them until they fucking learn!”
“How did you know?” asked Terry. He had felt the increased capacity. In fact, he had been impressed with the magnitude of the increase. He never would have thought it was just a fraction of what it should have been.
“I smelled it,” sighed Swen. “These parasites always reek of arrogance and the unmistakable stench as if you owed them something just for standing in their pathetic presences, but sometimes it’s just this much worse, and it’s always because they believe they can get away with something.”
Terry blinked. This wasn’t an answer he had been prepared for.
“I’ve reached the limits of my patience,” exclaimed Swen. “I can’t take this shit for much longer.” He looked at Terry. “I hope you’ve picked your borrowed concept, because I’m really looking forward to settling this shit with Bulgur.”
“You mean with Melvin?” asked Terry.
“No, I mean both,” stressed Swen. “They both tried to screw us. I’ve worked with Bulgur for more than a century and this is all it amounts to. The faith parasites never change.”
Swen placed his palms over his face. “Man, how I wish Day was here. We would wipe their shitty arrogant smiles off their shitty little faces.” He removed his palms. “That guy had a knack for getting back at the bastards in the most satisfying ways possible. I’ll never forget the day we finally eradicated the last Twin.”
Swen shook his head slightly. “Some days, the reminder that is the blessing of the dead god of death is the only thing that keeps me going. I’ll cherish that day for eternity. Bloody parasite. I’ve survived him. Me, a faithless mortal, has outlived a god of death. That’ll never stop being fucking funny. I’ll always be grateful to Day for that.”
“Why do you do that?” asked Terry with concern.
“Do what?” Swen turned to look at the only person he could trust in this damned place.
“Talk as if the Veilbinder— as if Day was dead,” clarified Terry. He still couldn’t get used to calling the Veilbinder by name, but that was how the Blasphemer naturally talked about his friend.
“Because he is,” said Swen wearily. “Must be. I don’t see how he hasn’t come back by now, otherwise.” His gaze became empty, and from the depths of his aged soul, he heaved a heavy sigh.
Terry swallowed. Before meeting the Blasphemer, he had never dared to believe the Veilbinder might still be alive. To him, this wasn’t about the weight of a hero like the Veilbinder being dead or not.
In Terry’s eyes, the heavy air originated from seeing an ancient hero mourning a friend and companion, even after a millenia.
Terry didn’t know what to do. His instinct was to act like he would around his friends, but was that appropriate?
Terry’s friends were… like him, mostly.
Who was Terry?
Who was the Blasphemer?
Even after having spent nearly a season with each other as the only mortals around, the Blasphemer was hardly comparable to anyone else Terry knew.
In terms of age, Devon was the closest reference.
In terms of accomplishments and sacrifice for the realm, Sigille was probably the closest.
How did you console a legend?
What could a relative baby like Terry do when an ancient hero was hurting?
Terry suddenly had to think of sitting next to Devon while petting dogs. Think of the moment he had begun to feel normal again despite sitting in the ashes of Syn City.
Terry remembered the interactions between Wallace and Sigille – two friends that could hardly be any more different in standing and behavior.
A final image surfaced in Terry’s mind. The only sketch of the Veilbinder in the Path of a Mage, accompanied by a dedication to their departed friend.
Behind the legend of the mage, there was a real person.
Terry decided to ignore his hesitation and pulled the surprised saint into a hug. “It’s okay. We’ll show these… parasites. I know I’m nothing like Day, but I’ll do my best. You’re not alone anymore.”
Terry ignored the embarrassment and feelings of awkwardness welling up inside of him. Worst case, Swen would cuss him out. Best case, he might have helped the hero preserve a bit of his escaping sanity.
I know I could have used a hug in the dungeon back then.
Terry’s tension was released when he unexpectedly felt his hug returned.
A moment of silence passed in the Order’s chamber.
Swen released the hug. “Thanks, bucko.”
“You know, we could take a break,” suggested Terry. “I’d be happy to hear some of your stories about Day and the others. Or we could go to the pits and exercise. Whatever you feel like…” He remembered something. “Uhh, by the way, you haven’t explained to me what a blessing of permanence actually is.”
Terry knew the ‘inviolable’ part by now. That was the term for ensuring the blessing is properly separated from its origin, with no way for the god to rescind the blessing after it was granted or to modify it in any further way.
“A true blessing of permanence is beneficial in many ways,” said Swen. “Permanence for the body means that you’ll be harder to injure, but I doubt whatever that lesser god can do will achieve much in that area.”
Swen slapped Terry lightly on the shoulder. “No, for you the part that will be more useful is Melvin’s purview as a crafting god. His blessing should help you to impart your mana more durably and also slow down its natural decay.”
Wait… Permanence of mana?
Terry’s mind was ablaze with potential benefits. He couldn’t wait to get it and record all changes in his notebooks. He was almost thankful for Melvin being such a prick.
Almost.
***
Comments
An Idiot
Was it ever stated how much mana it took to generate liquid mana? With the mention of his mana regeneration training I can't help but think his regeneration will be able to keep up with the cost of filling his channels with liquid mana
Sesharan
The further we get into this arc, the more interesting it becomes to me that the dungeons led Terry here. Swen was so desperately in need of someone, not only to help him in his fight but also for moments like this where he just needs a damn hug, and the dungeons delivered Terry at just the right time. It’s never really been clear just how intelligent dungeons are, and this is making me even more curious about them.
Nyroe
The Immovable mage just got Immovabler.
