Low-Fantasy Occultist

Nick paused to admire the craftsmanship of the rune-carved double doors before deciding that, though mighty, they couldn’t hold him back. He channeled a surge of kinetic force into the Shard and slammed the staff’s butt directly into the hinges.

The masonry holding them shattered, and the doors exploded inward, crashing onto the antechamber’s marble floor in a cloud of pulverized dust. Nick stepped through the breach, dropping the [Mire] as he let his presence flare. A pressure instantly dominated the room, ripping apart several subtle spells that would have confounded their senses.

Unsurprisingly, given its new destination, the old master suite of the Elpen estate had been gutted. No longer a place of rest, it had become a sterile Artificer's den. The walls were lined with intricate workbenches, arcane tools, and partially assembled homunculi hanging from iron racks.

In the center of the room, hovering above a raised basalt pedestal, was a slowly rotating silver tesseract, which hummed with a hollow power. Though a beautiful piece of artifice, to Nick's heightened senses it felt lacking—a mere imitation of the true Forge locked below.

Standing behind the pedestal was Chief Apprentice Nestor, who didn’t seem surprised by their arrival. The Artificer was a tall, unnervingly thin man draped in overlapping plates of dark, iridescent armor. The metal was heavily inlaid with thousands of microscopic runes that held more power than any other armor piece he’d encountered, and Nick knew that getting through it would be much harder than he’d have liked.

Not that I expected anything else. He sensed an enemy, so he had time to put on his best pieces. As far as I know, this guy is Ephor’s second-in-command, at least when it comes to artificing.

Four homunculi flanked him. Unlike the statues lining the courtyard, these were amalgamations of steel, bone, and other esoteric components. Their arms ended in rune-etched blades, and Nick got the sense that even if he’d gotten the drop on them, they wouldn’t have fallen to a single strike.

"I was wondering why the patrols in the west wing went dark," Nestor said, his voice a dry, rasping whisper. He clutched a staff of fused Null-glass, which had no presence in the ether, and he didn’t seem too worried. "I expected Alexander's fanatics to make their move eventually. But you are something else, aren't you? The false priest must have paid a high price to secure your services.”

“We don't work for the Circle," Nick replied flatly. He raised the Shard, balancing threads of red lightning and conceptual fire at its tip. “Though I suppose that won’t change much for you. You will die either way.”

Nestor’s eyes narrowed as his gaze drifted from Nick to the two figures emerging from the dust behind him. He studied the fluid way Gaelen held his blade and the alchemical bandolier strapped across Rhea’s chest. That, along with the murderous look in their eyes, seemed to give him pause until realization hit him.

"Not the Circle, no,” Nestor breathed, as a cold, delighted smile stretched across his thin face. "The heirs have finally returned. Ephor will be furious, but I... I am overjoyed. Do you have any idea how long I have sought a sample of true Elpen blood to bypass your grandmother's infernal lock?”

I’m starting to think that going around disguised is less useful than I expected. Everyone seems to recognize them, even with their features so altered.

“The only blood spilled today will be yours," Gaelen snarled, tensing for the coming fight.

"Kill the mage," Nestor commanded as his staff flared. "Capture the other two alive.”

The four homunculi lunged forward with blistering speed.

Despite his earlier hesitation about using this method to kill, Nick had no qualms about using it against an armed enemy. He thrust his empty hand forward, unleashing [Stream of Consciousness] directly at Nestor's mind, intending to end the fight before he could bring his full arsenal to bear.

The invisible wind of spiritual intent struck the Artificer squarely in the chest, but it didn’t pass through.

The thousands of runes inlaid in the armor flared, and a metallic screech echoed through the ether as Nick's spell was violently deflected. The armor, it seemed, was designed to protect the soul as much as the body.

It is meant to shield him from the ether, Nick realized, adjusting his stance and plans as the homunculi closed in. He must have built this armor specifically to withstand Alexander's profane magic. Raw spiritual power won't break it.

It was the first time his spiritual magic had failed him, but he’d not been so arrogant as to believe it would always be a one-hit kill. In fact, he’d expected it long before it finally happened.

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"Did you think I would be unprepared for the soul-arts?" Nestor mocked, his eyes blazing with a sadistic gleam as he tapped his staff on the floor.

A dozen hidden panels in the laboratory walls slid open, revealing arbalests loaded with cold-iron bolts.

"Gaelen, keep the constructs back!" Nick ordered, already pivoting. "Rhea, the walls!”

Gaelen faced the homunculi's attack, his form blurring as he deflected their blades. He moved with fluid grace, using his superior agility to keep the four constructs—each stronger than him, evidenced by the gouges they left in the marble even without directly touching it—from overwhelming him.

He wouldn’t last long without accepting his blade’s corrupting influence, but it would have to do.

Meanwhile, Rhea drew three vials of bubbling green acid from her bandolier and hurled them in rapid succession. They shattered against the walls, eating through the complex firing mechanisms before the arbalests could fire their volley, guided by her magic to focus on weak points. Several still went off, but she raised a wall to halt them.

With the immediate threat momentarily contained, Nick turned his attention back to Nestor. If he couldn't pierce the armor with spiritual force, he would have to crack the shell first.

Exhaling from the effort, he cast [Conceptual Steam], layering the superheated vapor with crackling arcs of red lightning, then unleashed the storm directly at the Artificer.

Nestor raised his staff in response, and the transparent material hungrily absorbed the incoming elemental fury, glowing cherry-red for a fraction of a second before he redirected the energy, unleashing a blistering beam of heat back at Nick.

[Crest of the Thunderbird] materialized just before impact, deflecting the beam through one of the homunculi and into the ceiling, where it melted through the stone, sending molten slag raining down onto the workbenches.

The creature staggered back, but its skin flared an angry red, and its flesh rippled, sealing the hole and allowing it to return to the fray.

The fight settled into a high-speed back-and-forth, and Nick quickly realized that his usual approach would not win this duel. Nestor was a formidable enemy, fighting in his sanctum, surrounded by artifacts he had spent years crafting. Every time Nick launched a lethal strike, Nestor absorbed it with his staff, cast a mighty shield spell, or countered with an elemental blast of his own.

It became clear that while he might have outlasted the man on a neutral battlefield, that would not be the case here. It was not the first time Nick was outmatched, having fought beings far more powerful than the Artificer before, but then he’d always had a hidden trump card or a weakness he could exploit.

Here, none of those things were available. He’d have to win on his own merits.

If I can't break the armor from the outside, he thought, his mind racing through his vast repository of occult knowledge, I have to bypass the concept of defense altogether.

Fortunately, he had something like that in his arsenal. He just needed to adapt it to the current circumstances, since he doubted the man would give him another open shot. With that decided, Nick stopped trying to hit Nestor directly.

He lunged left, dodging a sweeping blow from one of the homunculi, and as he landed, he slammed the butt of the Shard down hard against the marble floor.

[Zealous Flame] washed over the creature, hurling it back against its creator and, in the same strike, carving a long line in the marble.

Nestor had little trouble redirecting his construct away and sneered. “Getting tired, boy?”

At the same time, another rune flashed, and Nick felt himself grow heavy. He threw himself backward, using [True Flight] to hover behind the pressure trap.

He landed near the western wall, driving his staff into the stone again. Another burst of flame erupted, destroying several traps and giving Rhea time to help her brother as another sigil was carved.

“He built wings of wax and feathers,” Nick murmured under his breath. The ether hummed in response, attuned to the echoes of the myth he’d settled on.

Nestor frowned, sensing the shift. He didn’t seem aware of what he was doing specifically, but any attempt had to be stifled, so he unleashed a rapid barrage of kinetic strikes.

Nick danced through the invisible spheres, taking a glancing blow to his shoulder that nearly shattered his collarbone. He ignored the pain and rushed toward the northern wall, right behind the pedestal holding the floating silver tesseract.

“And he flew too close to the sun, defying the bounds of the earth.”

He struck the stone a third time, and fire flared in a massive gout, burning another of the homunculi before it could strike Gaelen. The three burning sigils formed a wide triangle that encompassed the entire laboratory, including everyone within its bounds.

"What are you doing?" Nestor demanded, a sudden flicker of genuine concern breaking through his arrogant facade. He swung his staff, trying to flood the room with his power to disrupt the spellwork.

It was too late.

“The sun did not burn his flesh,” Nick chanted, his voice rising and echoing. Backing away from a blade strike, he settled in the center of the room and poured mana through the Shard. “It melted the wax and exposed the soul to the fall!”

The three sigils flared with incandescent light.

This ritual was born of the same conceptual root as [Hubris’ Reach] and was intended to establish a tether among every living soul standing within the triangle’s boundaries.

Nestor's runed armor could not identify the spell as an attack because it wasn't one. The ritual simply declared that, within this space, the concept of barriers between souls did not exist.

Everything was to be exposed before the might of the sun, so their true selves could be judged. Of course, Nick took precautions to ensure the star’s attention wouldn’t focus on his companions, though even he couldn’t ensure their complete safety.

I’ll just have to trust them.

Silver light flared from Nestor as he tried to empower his protective enchantments, but it was for naught. The ritual was now active.

All of a sudden, space ceased to exist, and they all found themselves in a great darkness. Even the homunculi were there, confirming that they’d been built using human sacrifice, for there had to be traces of a soul for them to be affected.

Even in the false self, a trace of truth exists.

Yet Nick wasn’t worried. Such abominations wouldn’t last long.

The others were struggling to understand what was going on, as they were not used to leaving their physical bodies, but before they could regain their wits, a blinding light shone upon them.

Nick had known from the early days in this world that the Sun was active, not dormant as it had been in his previous life. His experiences with [Welcoming of the Sun] had taught him as much, and he was relying on that to see his plan through.

A presence, so massive it was hard to comprehend, suddenly bore down on them. Unlike gods and demons, this was not a coherent being but more akin to a force of nature, if elevated by several orders of magnitude.

Everything was laid bare before the Almighty Star; every secret was revealed, every ounce of darkness swept away by its uncaring rays. In that moment, [Blasphemy] engaged to protect him from its influence.

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