Fallen Mage Regressor

“Philo means no offense, but what exactly is the plan?"

Mal sniffed the air. No sign of either Rolam or the demon. "I find them."

"How, exactly?"

"I can. I just need to pick up the scent."

Philo's eyes turned completely expressionless. Behind them, there was some kind of inner mechanism working to unravel what exactly Mal meant by that. No matter. Mal would attend to it in time.

At this point, they were inside the massive department building for spellcasting. They'd only been on the hunt for a few minutes, but Mal was already starting to feel his stomach twist into knots. Every second counted, and they still hadn't found a trace of either one of his targets. If Rolam died here, the timeline would be completely screwed. Whatever plans Mal had would need to change completely.

No, Rolam couldn't die.

Not only that, but this demon needed to be put down before it got to Vigil.

Mal stopped in place. He took a long sniff. Just at the edge of his scent, barely noticeable—Rolam. Mal's eyes locked onto the direction. He could faintly make out the particular shade of mana that Rolam produced passively. Mal ran off in the direction of the smell.

"You found him?" Philo said.

Mal nodded.

Philo hummed. "You have an excellent sense of smell, ape."

Mal thought about the best reply and quickly came up with the most obvious answer. "I have a high mana sensitivity. One of the few things I'm naturally talented at."

"Philo would say you're talented at much more than that, but that's just Philo's personal opinion."

Mal didn't respond. There was no point in trying to correct such an absurd misunderstanding.

"You know," Philo said. "There is an old tribe of Beastpeople known for their sense of smell. It was thought that they'd died out many centuries ago, but some have always suspected that they yet remain. Tell me, are you related to them?"

Even Mal couldn't stop his face from screwing up in confusion. "As far as I know, I don't have any beastperson blood in me."

"As far as you know? What an interesting way of stating that."

Mal really wanted to correct whatever assumptions were going through Philo's head at the moment, but Mal knew that they didn't have time to argue about this. By this point, Mal could make out the faint thin trail of Rolam's mana. It was like a long string, hovering in the air. A distinct green shade completely unlike the white unaligned mana that coated the entire building.

Mal's head started to pound. The light of the mana was so damn bright, and he wanted nothing more than to look away or at least unfocus his eyes. But he couldn't. He had to hunt down Rolam.

The sound of liquid dripping onto the ground froze Mal in place. Philo stopped and looked back at Mal. "Ape? What is it?"

Mal shushed him and gestured toward his ear. Philo frowned, but nodded slowly. He remained silent, and then his eyes shot open. "What's that noise?"

Mal started walking forward in the direction of the sound. This time, he moved slowly, making sure that he wouldn't miss any details.

There were blood stains on the floor.

Philo spotted them and then froze like a deer. "Philo thinks we need to leave, ape."

Mal ignored him and followed the blood trail. As he walked, the sound of blood dripping grew louder and louder. It was like a waterfall in Mal's ears. He stopped in front of a door where the blood trail went underneath. Philo was backed up against the wall, his hands shaking.

Mal reached out and opened the door.

Inside, a person in servant's clothing—a maid—was slumped against the wall. She was breathing shallow, her every breath pained and wheezing. Blood trailed from the side of her forehead and fell against the ground.

Drip, drip, drip. Around her, dark red balls of mana emanated like fireflies..

Mal's breath caught. Sharp, amber eyes—though they looked dull by this point—and pasty, curly black hair.

Lusia.

Lusia was hurt, and it was his fault. Lusia was hurt, and he'd been negligent—stupid. He'd gotten a second chance, and he'd already wasted it. He'd already ruined things beyond repair.

She wheezed and Mal's eyes widened to dinner plates. It wasn't too late. He took a few more steps forward, reaching out his hand when he stopped.

Something was off. His instincts were screaming at him.

Philo stepped forward quickly and brushed past Mal. "What happened to her? We need to get her to central hall—"

Mal took a breath.

The smell of sulfur, rot, and brimstone filled his lungs.

"Philo, it's a trap!"

Philo froze and looked back at Mal in confusion. "Lusia" snapped her eyes toward Philo and jumped into the air, twisted black metal gleaming in her hand and pointed straight toward Philo's neck.

The blade connected and scraped against Philo's neck. A few of his scales flew from the force of the blow. He staggered back and rubbed his neck, his breath shallow.

"—Mal, what—"

"That's not Lusia. That's an imposter."

Mal narrowed his eyes. This thing had done its research. It must've transformed when it heard Mal's voice. And somehow, it had known that Lusia would be Mal's one weakness. Mal's eyes flickered over toward the wound. Thankfully, Philo's natural draconid durability had rescued him. He was bleeding, but he wasn't spewing blood all over the ground.

He looked back over at the demon. "Reveal yourself. There's no point in keeping up this farce."

The demon slumped over, its back curved unnaturally. It raised its eyes and looked at Mal, its expression twisted in a way that Lusia's face could never be.

"You're a smart one, aren't you?" it asked. "Most of you humans would've rushed over in such a situation—but you? You realized what was happening just a few scant seconds after you entered the room."

Mal leveled a glare at the creature. "You have a particularly disgusting scent."

"Oh, I see, I see." It straightened its back and licked its lips. "That kind of mana sensitivity is a real pain in the ass to deal with. You're like a bloodhound, but for my kind."

Mal stared at it. "What are you doing here?"

The demon wasn't supposed to be in the department for spellcasting and magic theory. It was supposed to be disguised as a guard or something, hunting down Vigil. Why had it chosen this location?

"I have two targets," the demon said. "One of them is that damned teacher of yours, the red slayer. The fact that he managed to elude us even in our homeland is a humiliation that cannot stand."

Vigil, then.

"But who's your second target?"

"Oh, come now." The demon cackled and grinned, a grin that went from ear to ear. "You don't know?"

"Answer me."

"You, my dear Malfrasius."

Mal sucked in a breath. Philo, who up to this point had been quivering in fear, stopped and furrowed his eyebrows together.

"Your role was known to us for many years," the demon said. "You have a determined fate, but you're screwing it all up. My job is to get things back on task."

Philo was now staring at Mal with an open mouth.

Mal's lips turned dry. They knew?

"What, me in particular?" Mal snorted, his breath shallow. "I think you got the wrong guy."

"You aren't even aware, are you?" The demon sighed and lifted its hand toward its forehead. "You have no idea who you were supposed to become."

Mal didn't respond. His mind was too busy trying to work out the implications of what he just heard. Because if it was true… if the Bird Eaters had wanted him to become an Endbringer… then what had even been the point of it all? Or maybe, the demon even meant that higher powers were at work, and that Mal had always been supposed to be an Endbringer, and there was no such thing as free will? No, that couldn't be—

"But there's some things you do seem to know." The demon lifted its hand away and looked Mal in the eyes. "Tell me, what do you know of the Cup of Tears?"

Mal, frazzled and too busy working out what he just heard, couldn't stop himself from widening his eyes by a fraction of an inch. The demon gasped.

"Someone's been feeding you information!" the demon shouted. "You couldn't have known about that! It's simply impossible!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"No, no, no. It's far too late for that." The demon's tone turned low. It muttered to itself. "It's a shame, you would've made for such a good tool."

Philo, apparently having had enough of being a spectator, finally spoke up. "Ape—no, Malfrasius," Philo said. "What is this creature talking about?"

"It's a demon, Philo. All of them are liars to the core. They sow dissent as a hobby, you can't put stock into what they say."

"But—"

"We don't have time for this!"

At that, Philo fell silent. He gave a slow nod and looked back in the direction of the demon. "You're right, Philo apologizes," Philo said. "But still, we're in an unfavorable position. Philo thinks we should run."

"It won't let us," Mal said. "Unless you feel like sacrificing me to save your own skin, that is. I wouldn't blame you."

In fact, that would make things easier. Mal would be free to go all out… in so far as he could do such a thing, given his limited resources. Philo didn't immediately respond. There were several seconds of silence. If Mal was looking at Philo, he was certain that he'd see a conflicted expression, knees shaking. Philo didn't want to be here, obviously. He was only a first year student, and now he was supposed to fight against the demon? It was certain death.

The only rational move was to walk away.

There were a few footsteps, and Mal thought that Philo was backing up. Then, his shadow appeared in the corner of Mal's vision. Philo raised his hand and Mal could already see the mana flowing into his body.

"Philo thinks he would have nightmares if he left you to die," Philo said.

Mal grimaced. "There's a good chance we both just end up dying."

"Philo will accept that risk."

The demon cackled again, the noise like thousands of shrill whistles blowing at the same time.

"Oh, what a beautiful expression of friendship! You two work together, and now you'll die together!" it said.

It straightened its back, and before their eyes, it began to transform. Its spine lengthened and bones clicked in place. Its skin started to change to a sickly red. Its eyes, once a dull amber, turned to the color of vomit. Two horns grew out of its head. Its hair receded into its skull. Its legs grew fur and its feet transformed into hooves.

It was then that Mal realized that it had never been using a sword. No, it was the nails. They were long and black and curved like daggers, and Mal had no doubt that they could rip his throat open like a ripe fruit.

"So then," the demon said. "Shall we dance?"

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