Magic Breaker [Enby MC Anti-Mage LitRPG]

My mantle manifests. A shimmer of Philia’s golden, flaming blade comes into existence around my dagger. Shimmering bits of light glimmer in the air around me, flickering between shadows. Fragments of Bay’s flames and ice, bits of Opal’s echoes float and hover around me.

A spider approaches, and a lance of light turns to fire at it. The insect wants to dodge. It should have been easy to dodge, since the attack was slow and weak, but…

[Suppression 22 > 23]

Once my tether of [Selection] latches on, the spider’s speed crumbles to nothing. It slows, suddenly burdened by its own weight, to the point where even the slow lance hits. Even the feeble bolt of radiance tears through its weakened hide like paper, setting its insides aflame.

Opal appears at my side, joining Amelie, and Richard is there a moment later. “Bile!” our knight yells. “Get over here and dig!”

The minotaur turns, looking confused. “Huh?! We wanna go up, don’t we?”

“Dig,” I tell him. “Get us out of here as fast as you can.”

“There’s too much earth, I can’t-”

“Dig.”

It’s not a request. Blinking, the minotaur pauses, looks at the spiders, then runs, as more descend on him. They’re slower than they’re meant to be, and each time one seems close to reaching him, it falls… just barely short of it. Bile reaches us two heartbeats later, and instantly channels his magic into the ground.

The earth opens up like a yawning maw. Without hesitation, Richard, Opal, Amelie and Norman walk down. I am the last to leave, because that’s my job. Another spider approaches, the insect already spraying some more of that near-invisible thread at me.

Mana tears out of my vessel. I drop all pretenses, all hesitation. Half of my entire store of power vanishes in a single moment, an absolute torrent of power pouring into [Deconstruction].

That brutal drill, meant to dissect and break, spins up to speed, then even faster. The swirling spell pattern crashed into the spider with enough force to easily shatter its resistance. Instead of approaching, sinking venomous fangs into our necks, or anything like that, the spider disintegrates.

One moment, it chitters, quickly crawling towards me. The next, it’s nothing more than a bloody smear on the ground.

I stare at the rest of them. “Scram,” I say, and the arachnids flinch.

Then I head below ground and the earth closes above me.

- - -

“Out of mana,” Bile gasps, taking heavy gulps of air. “I can’t… I-”

I hand him the mana core, filled to the brim. “Absorb it,” I say. “Then keep digging.”

He stares at me, then at the crystal. “I-” he looks into my eyes then pauses. Instead of bickering, he takes the crystal, absorbs all the mana inside it, then focuses right back on the rock.

When I hold it again, I pour more mana into it, refilling it entirely again as we march onward through the tunnels. Again, and again, and again, until Bile cannot cast the skills anymore because of the strain on his vessel. He’s out of breath, collapsed against the floor.

“You did good,” I tell him, even though it’s a lie. He didn’t do good enough and I despise him for that. “We’re out of the spiders’ territory. We can make the rest of the way outside.” We can, but underground could have been faster. If only he’d been a better mage. If Thatch died because of him-

I breathe. Then, I nod at Opal, who quickly carves us a path above ground. Thatch is far away, but not unreachably far. A few hours if we move quickly. And we will move quickly. The loops suppressing my mana and body are dropped, and I can feel the difference. Everything is easier. I call up my stats as we climb up out of the earthen hole.

Lv. 54

Heart: 32

Power: 18

Vessel: 273 - Abiding Apathy

I’ve gained a lot of natural stats from all the training. Twenty in total. Almost seven levels worth. Power makes me faster, heart lets me endure more, and so we run through the forest, tearing through the undergrowth. Norman manages to cast some sort of acceleration spell, turning us even faster for the long distance run. Maybe something he got for being a messenger?

After about an hour, the distress beacon winks out. Its location is still seared into our minds, pointing us at it, and we run. There is another turn, a carnivorous tree trying to snap at us, but this time, Opal acts first. 

Their smile is gone. All of the humor from their demeanor has vanished. Instead, when I look at them, I see someone ready to go the distance. I see a human who smashes through woods as if it was tissue paper, splintering the bark and carving carnivorous vines apart. It’s brutal, but quick and efficient, and we move on.

We run and run and run, until we find the spot where Thatch should be - and find a trail of blood.

A lot of blood.

It’s splattered all over the ground of the forest. All over the plants, dying each leaf a startling crimson, setting it apart against the background of brown soil. Splatters of liquid are splashed across trees, drying up against the bark. Even more pools in little indents in the ground, forming tiny puddles of the stuff.

A shiver runs down my back. My mantle wraps tight around me, and I can feel Kuro curling around my shoulder in an attempt to bring comfort. I feel hollow.

Despite everything, I step forward. The trail isn’t hard to follow. My heart beats rapidly from exertion, my breath coming in puffs, and yet I run onwards. Red and red and more red. Crimson drops, a flood at first, then becoming more and more of a trickle.

We follow for what feels like hours, but must have been a few minutes at worst. My ears ring as I pass a tree.

He’s there.

Thatch. 

Laying on the ground, in a pool of his own blood. His skin is in tatters, more torn than whole. Blood still pours out of cooling wounds. His eyes are open, glassy, barely aware. Burns cover his face, a handprint singed into his forehead.

Next to him sits someone, calmly. A tall, inhuman man. He wears a nice, white suit, with a crimson tie, and white gloves that are faintly stained red. Where a human’s head would be, all he had was a crackling orb of fire. He turns to me.

“I told him so,” he says with a long sigh. His voice is deep and melodic, though less so than that of the sumeen. He sounds like what it feels to look into a campfire. “I told him to signal the beacon. But he wouldn’t. He just wouldn’t.”

“Did you hurt Thatch?” I ask.

The man of flames nods. “Yes,” he says. “I hurt him. He has multiple broken bones, fractured ribs, torn ligaments in both knees and his right shoulder. He has second degree burns across his back and face, first degree across most of his arms. He has-”

I look at the man as he rattles off my friend’s injuries as if reading them from a list. I make sure to remember everything about him. The sound of his voice, the colour of his suit, his height, the way his flames flicker and their dim, red-yellow colour. I burn it into my mind. “I am going to kill you,” I interrupt him.

He pauses. “Hey. Do yourself a favour and analyze me for a second,” he says. Despite the disgust I feel at following an order, I brush my mana across him.

[Flamebearer, lv. ??]

I nod. “Alright. So?”

A long moment passes as the flames crackle. “You really think you’ll kill me. Huh. That’s precious. Alright, rookie. I accept. Try and murder me, that’s fine. But we gotta talk now.”

“Will you try to stop me if I heal Thatch?” I ask.

“Nah,” he casually shakes his head, waving a hand through the air, leaving a thin trail of red. Flames trail after him, and blood drips from the gloves to the ground. “Well. I’ll let you heal him if you have a conversation with me afterwards.”

With a nod, I kneel down next to Thatch. More of mana evaporates as I try to mend his wounds. Power fuels my healing skill, and I push thoughts of bloody murder from my head. Not now, not now. I [Select] Thatch, enhancing the effectiveness of my healing on him.

Skin knits together with more skin, and the flame-head looks at me curiously. “I thought the rumors about your healing were exaggerated, yet here you are. No wonder Respitia wants you purged.” It feels like he’s giving me a sly smile.

[Biological Restoration 16 > 17]

I don’t answer. He smiles, and teases. “Feeling coy?” he asks.

Opal puts their blade to his neck. They smile brightly. “Hey,” they say, cheerily. “How about you shut the fuck up, eh? My friend Ion agreed to talk after healing, not during, fireface.”

The flame thing tilts its head in curiosity. “Fireface is not what I am called. My name is Flamando.”

More of Thatch’s flesh knits shut. He’s hurt so badly, I end up emptying out my mana pool. I hand Flamando the core. The flames his head is made from twitch slightly, pulling together as if knitting his eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We talk after healing,” I reply calmly. “I’m out of mana. You wanna talk? Donate.”

There’s a long pause, until he shakes his head, and lays his hand on the stone. “Shameless,” he says, filling it up in seconds. “Absolutely shameless.”

More mana pools into my vessel, and I heal Thatch some more. Wounds shut, bone fragments snap back into place. I see the toll it takes, as he grows more haggard, fat melting off him in order to fuel the transformation. His muscular frame turns more gaunt, my magic returning life to him as new blood spawns, while simultaneous draining him.

“Richard?” I ask. “Can you cook something?”

“Of course,” the hiy’ht replies immediately. “Amelie, help me gather some ingredients?” 

With a nod from the girl, her puppets flare out, digging through the dirt. Norman watches, keeping a lookout for monsters. Bile lays sprawled on the floor, breathing heavily. Minutes pass, until Thatch’s eyes snap open, after a few more donations from Flamando. He looks at me, and for a moment, there’s panic and fear and pain.

And then he recognizes me.

A shaky gasp of air leaves his lips. “Snow,” he breathes. “You made it.”

“Always, Thatch,” I whisper. “Always.”

He smiles, faintly, then winces at the pain as the movement pulls at his burnt skin. I reach out, and attach a [Suppression] loop to him, whirling in on itself and consistently keeping his pain suppressed. He smiles a grateful smile, and I heal him more.

“Heyhey, Ion, don’t you think it’s time we talked?” Flamando asked. 

“He’s hurt.”

The man reaches out and grabs my shoulder.

Disgust roils through me at the same time as the heat from his hand does. I feel my clothing start to smoke from the heat, my skin already blistering as he pulls me to face him. “Oi,” he says, the facade of calm crumbling away. “Look at me when I’m fecking talking, you piece of shit. Think you’re hot stuff, huh? Let me show you hot.”

He moves to grab the side of my face, where shadows hide a handprint of blackened bone. Despite everything, Thatch reaches out and grabs his wrist. Instantly, the skin of his palm blisters and cracks. His voice is hoarse. “C’mon,” he asks shakily. “Please.”

With a grunt, Falamando tears his hand away. “Fine. Fucking- Fine. Yeah.” He leans back against the wood of the tree, crossing his arms in annoyance. “I’ll wait. I’ll be real patient for you all. I won’t even touch your precious Ion anymore, bastard.”

Despite everything, Thatch smiles again. “Thanks for coming, Snow,” he says. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” I reply. Then, I hand him a bowl of Richard’s food. “Eat.” Finally, I turn to Flamando. “Now, tell me what you want.”

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