Fallen Mage Regressor

A blast of black Withering Type mana came out of Ekron's wand. It hit the vine column before it could wrap around him, and the plants instantly withered and died. They fell down and flopped onto the dirt, and the rot spread like a wave. In one slow pattern, it, in a wave around him, the grass and wildflowers died and drifted and turned to dust.

Ekron looked up at him. "Really, trying to use Plant type mana against Withering type? It's your natural counter."

Mal frowned and channeled his mana to his bracelet. The Bramblevine bracelet flexed and two more columns came out from both the left and the right, a mass of wildflowers and roots and stems, all closing in on Ekron.

Ekron waved his wand and took one out. He turned to face the other, and Mal kicked the ground with his Airgrass boots to close the distance and take advantage of that split second.

The resurrected mole erupted forward and slashed its claws in Mal's direction. Mal was forced to dig his heels into the ground and stop. He ducked underneath a second swipe and hit it in the chest with his Firegloves. With a flash of light, the fire ripped through the skin and lit the entire creature up in a single burning blaze.

Ekron completed his turn and disintegrated the other vine, then glanced over at his burning creation.

"Not bad." He tilted his head. "Tell me, Endbringer, where did you learn to craft that? Was it from your time in Faren?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Mal needed allies. In a time past, he would have easily been able to take on Ekron on his own. But right now, a mere first-year student, Mal just didn't have the equipment or the power needed to close the gap between himself and a master necromancer.

His senses lit up, and he realized that one of the rotten deer animals had snuck up from his right. He jumped backward and barely avoided having his arm ripped off by a set of razor-sharp teeth.

Mal breathed hard and tried to think of his advantages.

He still had his Firegloves, and they were ruthlessly effective against the creatures. Perhaps he could simply wear them down—

Ekron looked around at the dead plants and raised his wand. A small dash of black withering type mana hit the shriveled up vines, and they filled out, still black and ashen and crinkled at the skin.

Instantaneous. There was no cooldown, or if there was one, it was so minor that it's a non-concern.

Ekron hadn't fought like this the last time Mal had met him. Ekron had limitations. How was this possible?

Mal needed to get away. He wouldn't be able to survive this, as much as he hated to admit it.

He breathed out slowly and considered his options once more.

Would he be able to outrun them? No. He didn't think so. All he had was mana circulation, and while powerful, it wouldn't let him outrun a wild animal, especially one that was buffed up and strengthened by Necromancy.

Mal forced himself to open his mouth and speak.

"So you all know who I am?" Mal said.

"Of course we do. Well—" he paused and made a so-so gesture with his open palm. "We weren't certain until that encounter with Nima. We'd had suspicions, but nothing certain."

Something in his expression changed. "I'd been curious to meet you, you know. After Nima explained your abilities. You practice aligned magic, the old ways."

"I do."

"The Fireglove, the boots that make you move fast—you're not a traditional wizard. Why do you seek to live among them?"

"The Academy has access to resources that I need."

"Using them for your own benefit." Ekron hummed, a glint of light in his eyes. "Have you ever considered joining the bird-eater cult?"

Mal glared at Ekron.

"I would sooner die."

"Such rage." Ekron frowned, and his wand lowered half an inch. "For what reason? The cult has never harmed you."

"Trust me, you have no idea."

Mal sensed his boots had fully charged back up.

To run or fight?

His hand crept on down to his Nettleleaf dagger. Blood type mana, also at a disadvantage against withering.

He shifted to flee when he realized something.

Ekron was unguarded.

He knew that Mal couldn't hurt him in his current state. He was relaxed.

That's a weakness, Mal realized.

Ekron wasn't invincible. He hid behind his army of reborn monstrosities because he couldn't fight in direct combat. Mal knew that he was just as vulnerable as any man.

I'll need to play the long game, Mal thought. It'll take time. But I can do it.

Mal sensed another strike coming from behind. He dropped down and dodged the blow, then pivoted and slammed his fist into the neck of the deer creature. It erupted into flames. The blackened vines snaked around his legs, and he sensed a spell being formed at the tip of Ekron's wand.

Whatever it was, Mal didn't want to get hit with it. He activated his Airgrass boots and jumped to the side. The vines ripped out of the ground and a black cloud of mist passed by his head. Mal stepped around and paid closer attention to the ground.

I can sense it, he realized.

It's subtle, but if I hone in on it—

He slid his right foot back and dodged an attempt to wrap around his foot. He took another step back and dodged another attempt.

Ekron blinked. "How are you doing that?"

Mal ignored this.

"I'm serious. You could join us, you know," Ekron said. "The others wanted to just manipulate you from the background. I think that that ship has long since sailed—"

"Because I've disrupted the timeline?"

"Indeed. But you seem like a reasonable person." He held out a hand. "Whatever resources the Academy has, we could give to you twice over. No, three times. I could even teach you. There are parts of my abilities that I had to learn. It isn't all innate, and I'd be happy to show you the parts that I can."

"I don't know how much more clear I can be." Mal straightened his back and his hand crept toward his Nettleleaf dagger.

"But you can change your mind, can't you?" Ekron bounced on the balls of his feet. "The cult really isn't that bad. They gave me and a lot of other people like me a home.

"You're in contact with demons, one of whom attempted to kill me."

Ekron grumbled and looked off to the side. "Yes. But that was before we realized you were actually useful. We thought you were just a rogue, annoying variable. But looking at you now, it's clear that you're far more valuable than that."

As flattered as I am to have a member of the cult praising my value, I can't quite seem to bring myself to care.

Ekron opened his mouth to speak, and the Airgrass boots finished charging up.

Mal kicked the ground and shot forward like an arrow released from a bow. Mana circulation clicked into place at the same instant, and he closed the gap between them in seconds. Ekron's eyes widened, and his reaction speed was commendable. The vines below the ground ripped out and tried to wrap around Mal's legs.

But he was prepared, having sensed them far in advance, and jumped up and dodged both attempts to grab his feet. Several more erupted out of the earth, and Mal slid between them like a snake.

His dagger unsheathed and cut a long gash across Ekron's shoulder down to his chest.

Ekron yelped and scrambled back, but Mal didn't let up. He followed with a cut to the neck. Blood sprayed out from the impact and into the air, like some twisted mockery of spring rain.

Ekron's body dropped to the ground and Mal stared down at it.

That was it?

Mal stared at it for several minutes longer, before he finally shook his head and turned back around.

With his total awareness, he noticed the fact that the body had stood up.

Mal froze in place. He jumped to the left and dodged another black cloud. He turned back around to see that Ekron was as good as new, the gash closed up and the hole in his neck repaired.

He scratched at his throat with a grimace.

"Nima was right," he muttered. "I can't believe that worked."

Mal's fist tightened around the Nettleleaf dagger. "How did you do that?"

"I am a necromancer. Is this really beyond the scope of possibility?"

It was for Ekron. Mal remembered his abilities from the last timeline, and that had been years in the future when he'd finally fought him. Ekron wasn't supposed to be capable of instant resurrection, or turning himself into a lich. Neither of these quite lined up. A lich's wounds didn't close. And necromancers didn't deal in healing magic, because withering type mana didn't fix wounds.

Mal didn't have enough information.

He was outgunned and outmatched at this moment, as much as he hated to admit it. He touched his senses to his boots and knew that he needed a little bit more time.

Talk. Talk like your life depends on it.

"So how did you pull that off?" Mal said.

"It wasn't entirely on my own," the boy said, eyes glancing up at the sky and watching a passing cloud. "It was Nima. He's a smart person, you know that?"

Nima? That doesn't make any sense. He's not a necromancer, and he's only a first-year student.

"How exactly did he do that?"

Ekron opened his mouth to respond before he shut it. "He would get mad at me if I talked about it. Sorry."

Mal's boots finished charging. He kicked the dirt and broke off in a dead sprint toward the right, back to the city.

Black vines ripped out of the dirt and tried to wrap around his ankles. He dodged left and right—then felt something else come up from behind. A four-legged mammal, another one of those rotted deer monsters that Ekron had created.

Mal held out his palm behind him and flared up the flames contained within the Fireglove. The glove burst into light and he heard something scream in surprise from behind him.

Unfortunately, that split second of distraction had caused him to miss the black cloud of mist heading straight for him.

It collided with his shoulder and Mal felt something worm its way into his skin, through the cloak. His heart skipped a beat and his muscles contracted and tensed.

Even so, he was still able to move his legs. He ignored the fading sensation of rot in his chest and kicked his boots a second time.

From behind, he could hear a hum. "That's unexpected."

As soon as Mal arrived back at the city, he scrambled for the church. His shoulder throbbed with pain, but he knew he needed to get information to Deacon Thoma as quickly as possible. He threw open the church doors and was greeted by the sight of all of the pews completely full. There was a man atop the altar, his hands outspread when he froze at Mal's sudden entry.

Footsteps to his right.

"You certainly like to make an entrance."

Deacon Thoma looked at him and his eyes sharpened. "With me."

He took him around the side to the back. As soon as they were in what seemed to be a private office of some sort, Deacon Thoma pulled Mal's robes past his shoulder.

Mal couldn't help but look at what had happened.

Black. His skin had turned an unnatural, perfectly dark black.

"What happened to you?" Deacon Thoma said.

"I ran across a necromancer."

Deacon Thoma cursed with a set of words that Mal supposed the church didn't approve of. He went over to the desk and pulled out the various ointments and bandages.

"Withering type mana rots you from the inside out," he said. "We'll need to extract it quickly. You don't have much time."

Damn.

Thoma got back over and inspected the wound closer. He grimaced and shook his head. "I think it may be too late."

Mal blinked.

"Damn."

And he'd just started to get along with Lusia, as well.

Just as Mal was about to start planning his last will and testament, a feeling like lightning crackling along his skin caught him by surprise. The black receded deeper into his tissue, leaving only a pale white.

"Oh yeah," Mal muttered, "that doctor did say I have some sort of immunity, don't I?"

"Immunity?"

"No. Not an immunity. An aspect, I think, whatever that is."

Deacon Thoma stilled. "That's rare."

“He also said that it contradicts my blood-type mana aspect or affinity, putting me in danger the longer Withering type mana is allowed to exist in my body.”

“That’s even more rare.” He shook his head. “How haven't you already died?”

“If I have to guess, though I have the latent affinity or potential for Withering type mana, my body doesn't produce it naturally. It's just... compatible?”

Mal tried to lift his arm and noted that it wouldn't move. “Still left me with some consequences, it seems.

This was the second time Mal had an arm rendered immobile via Withering type magic. He'd have to do something about that.

Mal looked back over at the deacon. “You know about internal mana types?”

“Operatives of the church are taught extensively about aligned magic, and the classification of internal mana is one of the things that are covered,” he said. “I'll see about getting you a specialist. Someone who will be able to extract the Withering type mana. I can't imagine it's a good idea to have it floating in your system, even if you're compatible.”

“You're probably right.”

Deacon Thoma walked over to his desk and tapped his index against the top. “You said you ran across the necromancer?”

“It was bad luck. He's outside of the city, and it looks like he's getting to work on something. Raising an army, I'd expect.”

“What were his abilities like?”

“He was able to instantly turn withered plants he'd just killed into his servants. There didn't seem to be a cooldown, or if there was one, it was so short that it didn't matter.”

“We'll need to follow through on our plan, then. The entire city will have to be scrubbed clear of detritus. I'll also pass messages up the pipeline requesting a legion in this area, preferably ones who have been trained to fight against necromancers.”

“The church has those sorts of people?”

“Not in vast numbers, but they do exist.” He shook his head. “For now, let's get you to a proper clinic and get the worst of the damage dealt with.”

“Wait, before that. Did my packages come in?”

Deacon Thoma paused.

“They did. Do you want to take a look?”

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