Magic Breaker [Enby MC Anti-Mage LitRPG]

Bloodline is a gang, yes, that much is true. But in a way, they’re also a family. A really fucked up, abusive sorta family. The kind that kicks you out and kills you if you fuck up even once. The kind that explodes you if you spill a secret you shouldn’t have.

They also have a centralized hub. Usually people aren’t stupid enough to go there.

Confrontations between holders of authority, generally, go violently. That’s why Raven sticks to the den, to the aviary, and Bloodstain sticks to Bloodline. They’re too likely to incur the Tower’s Wrath for killing too many flobs, and no one wants to be sent back to the fourth. That place is a shithole and a nightmare to climb out of solo, even with an authority.

So, they keep it peacefully. They move, and spy on one another, but generally, there’s places to find them. Which makes it pretty simple for us to go to the hideout of bloodline. It’s two floating islands south of where Sylves’ boss sits, so we focus on the island between the den and the boss.

Well, that’s where most of us are. Opal and Sylves have the tougher job, since they’re reasonably mobile. Which is attracting a bartering party for us to cause trouble with. 

After all, I’m still in hiding. I have become a person of peace. Which means no big showing of healing, or mass [Suppression] arrays. Those are too commonly associated with Ion. No, today, my job is a shadow mage!

Which means… manifesting a dark mask for myself by [Solidifying] some shadows, then make menacing hand signs while Kuro does the fighting for me. Truly, my bravery is unmatched. My spirit powerful.

Will I be sabotaging people with [Suppression] and throwing out mana needles cloaked in darkness? Why I’d never. Surely not me. Yuki the enchanter is entirely different from Kuro the shadowmancer, after all. Yes, I’m shamelessly stealing my companion’s name.

Thatch stands there nervously, but Inu and Richard keep him company. The two women are very powerful in terms of their emotional support capabilities. In fact, Inu might be our top ranked emotional supporter, shortly followed by Kuro, of course. Who is wonderfully calming when they try. 

Richard is third, though her meals do a lot of heavy lifting. I smile at my silly thoughts, and even that small gesture seems to reassure Thatch. The hiy’ht looks so small and harmless next to him, yet I don’t dare underestimate her. I still have no idea how she earnt her authority, after all.

She didn’t kill anyone with one, and she didn’t go past level 100, either. She’s in her mid-80s, right now. Higher than me, yes, but I have more vessel. Slowly, I breathe. I prepare the mask that I’ll keep on my face for the fight - a simple, blank one, woven from pure darkness. Sylves even made me a whole new outfit to really complete the edgy goth persona.

A heartbeat passes, and [Observation] triggers. Opal has reached my sphere of influence. A small smile weaves itself onto my face, and Kuro pools off me, the cloak disappearing as the little critter settles into the darkness beneath me. Two heartbeats alter, Sylves enters my area, chased by a handful of attacks.

I tilt my head. Is it a probing force, meant to intimidate us? Most of these people are probably flobs… but all the gangs have multiple people with authority. That’s just what it takes. They have to compete with the guard, after all.

Five full seconds more pass, until I feel one of the enemies step into my field of mana-detection. “Large,” I say. Instantly, Thatch nods. He sees them, too. Inu and Richard turn to listen. “Dragging an axe, or a cleaver. Berserker-type, I assume.”

Thatch shakes his head. “Regeneration-brawler,” he corrects. 

Again, I tilt my head, double-checking, then nodding. “Right.”

A moment later, a dozen more presences enter my sphere of observation. Opal appears next to me with a soft pop, blood coating their blade, dripping to the floor. There’s no rain tonight, but the wind is terrifying, gales streaking between the buildings.

“The lead guy’s a lieutenant,” Opal helpfully provides with a grin. “Authority. Over 150. Name’s Cleaver.”

I breathe, and nod. Sylves appears in the air behind us just a moment later. Her mossy mantle weaves around her shoulders, and a moment later shifts colour to wrap her in a grey cocoon, almost invisible against the backdrop of Downpour. Cleaver steps into the little alleyway with great, confident strides. 

There’s a ton of scars covering his face. Jagged, pale lines, criss-crossing over his nose and lips. His tongue flickers out, tasting the air, and it, too, is scarred, somehow. My eyes focus on him, and he grins. “Who’s youse leader, cowards?”

Thatch rapidly steps forward. “Me,” he says.

“Name?” Cleaver asks, his voice ragged, like gravel under boots.

“Hush,” Thatch replies.

Cleaver’s eyes narrow. “Youse telling me to shut it?”

Smirking, Thatch shakes his head. “No. That’s my name. Hush.”

“Kinda pathetic,” someone mouths to the side.

The scarily handsome man tilts his head, and I feel the anger slowly flooding him. His expression makes his face go from scarily handsome to plain scary. “Really, now? Want a demonstration?” 

Cleaver grins a ragged grin, and tosses the one who just yapped ahead. He picks the zoof up by the scruff of his neck and tosses him to us. “Why yea. Have at ‘im. Show us why we should be scared.”

Breathing in, Thatch gathers his [Rage]. I see the way he remembers, the way Inu pours it into him from her [Reservoir]. One moment to another, he is flooded with it. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, his irises have gone from emerald to deep red.

He reaches out. He [Channels]. His rage transforms, red haze turned physical. A monstrous claw appears above his hand, and with a brutally violent punch, he cuts the gang member’s head off. The body tumbles to the street, and instantly, the small laughs quiet.

“See,” Thatch growls. “Hush.”

At that, Cleaver’s ragged face pulls into a grin. “Well, I’ll be falling damned. Maybe this’ll be mighty fun after all.”

His authority washes over us like a ragged wave of red. It smells like rot and iron, and I can feel it pulling at me. Making me reckless, aggressive. It fans rage inside me, but at the same time, it makes it feel like I’m wading through muck. Almost happily, I examine that emotion, then dismiss it as tragically foreign, and let it fall into the void that rests inside.

Cleaver moves forward, drawing up sparks as he grins. Then, he explodes in a swift motion, and chaos breaks loose.

Another dozen of the gang members comes from their hiding holes. There must be roughly twenty, and I feel… three of them, with authorities crushing in on us. A few probably have internal authorities, too, so there’s that to be wary of.

My own efficiency sparks to life, and I withdraw my mana needles. The shadows around me start bubbling and boiling, as Kuro’s mind connects with mine even deeper. With some surprise, I note that they’re drawing on my mana pool, and I easily let them access. 

In fact…

A brawler comes close to me. His fists are wreathed in streaks of red, and his footwork is shuffling and quick. He steps in as if I’m some nobody, someone he can floor quickly. And then I drop my first suppression loop.

Not the one on my mana - the one on my body. The cruncher. That I keep active to train my physical stats.

Suddenly unchained, I slip back with new dexterity, avoiding a blow. There’s surprise written on his face, and he steps in for a follow-up. The boiling shadows reach up, tentacles wrapping around his leg. For a moment, he stumbles, then three of my mana-needles pierce his leg, stabbing through the other side.

I keep them solid on purpose. He probably thinks it’s the pain disrupting his skills, but it isn’t. Another fighter comes for me, a rogue, daggers drawn, appearing behind my back. She’s swift, her crystal wings covered in light webbing. I step through the muck, efficiency driving each movement, and shift away from the stab. She’s still too fast.

[Suppression] brushes her. A gentle touch of mana that is so faint, but makes all the difference. Again, she stumbles, and then, Kuro writhes. Their main body coalesces, insectile limbs stabbing up from the shadow.

A fireball flies at me, the light pulling at the darkness, until Richard simply swallows it. “None of that,” she says elegantly, adjusting her tie, then darting off into the fray, her small form biting at ankles. She spits fireballs. 

Opal teleports next to me, and someone follows them, sword swinging at their neck. Rolling my eyes, I help them out. Dark needles shoot past their parry, and the woman clashing with them has to contort to avoid them, giving Opal ample time to riposte, taking control of the fight as they blink again.

Another authority slams into me, this one cold and dark and hungry. It’s testing, as if asking where my depths lie. Its grasping fingers make me stagger, and a rapier sinks into my waist, just above my hip. The swashbuckler before me withdraws it in a swift motion, trailing motes of silver light.

Light that feels responsive to my essence. Moonlight, then? I tilt my head as I stare at it. The zoof, taller than any other I’ve seen, gives me a smug smile and steps in with another thrust. I observe, and follow my [Intuition], feeling the skill tug at a level, but refusing to let it advance. 

The shadows around me writhe, boil upwards, and consume the motes of light. Darkness wraps around him. He blinks, and then, three more stygian needles pierce his torso, one through his waist, another glancing off a rib, the third sinking deep into his shoulder before returning to my side.

He grimaces and slinks back, mist drifting from his footsteps as yet another goon is upon me - this time thwarted by silvery winds. Sylves hovers above me, summoning a storm as I retreat, slinking through the rubble, into a building. 

Without hesitation, one of the ruffians follows me inside. A large feryran woman wielding knuckledusters. She grins at me. “Trapped little rat?”

I shake my head, turning my voice distorted with the shadows. “I go where the night is deepest.” Inside, the edgy line amuses me, but I hold it in as Kuro boils upwards.

Massive jaws manifest, and for a moment, the feryran’s eyes widen. She jumps, smashing into the ceiling, and the jaws lock around one of her legs. A titanic amount of mana drains from me as Kuro twists, slamming her into another wall, sending rubble cascading downwards. 

Hurriedly, I step backwards again, the ceiling collapsing in on me. The rogue is behind me, though, knife waiting, and I just barely twist out of sight, remembering her patterns. Again, there’s a tug from my skills, but I hold steady. Not yet.

My needles dance forward, blocking three of her slashes, splintering and cracking in response. I feed them more mana, keeping the constructs stable. Blood drips from my stab onto the city, but the rogue holds her leg just as well, giving me a ragged grin.

Authority bubbles forth from her, and crashes into me. And then, authority spills from my shadow, too, crashing into her, making her step back with dread. My eyes bore into her from the featureless mass, and I drag against the freezing fingers that dig into me. Instead, I step forward, coating my hand in freezing darkness, grabbing her head, and smashing it into the floor.

It feels almost nostalgic to the beginning of this all, when I killed my first goblin.

A brutal blow smashed into my spine, the armored feryran with the knuckle dusters spitting blood, sending me ragdolling, crashing through another wall until Inu catches me. I feel Kuro explode with anger, pulling on my mana, and finally, I drop that second suppressing loop. 

Mana floods outwards from me. The strain takes all my focus as I feed Kuro a torrent of power, my vessel creaking and straining. Blood pours from my wounds, pain arcs through me - but I don’t break. I don’t crack.

All at once, the darkness turns deeper, darker. And a heartbeat later, with a brutal screech, needles rise from it in a wave.

Cleaver staggers, his feet pierced. Thatch, fully monstrous, lands a brutal blow on his chest, and I can see his ribs cave in as Inu places me back down. She casually reaches out and stops a sword swing, the momentum disappearing as she touches it. Then, her fist crashes into the weapon, wreathed in her authority, shattering the feeble metal.

“Halt!” a new voice calls, her voice ringing loud enough for all of us to hear. Instantly, the fighting stops. Cleaver drags himself up in a pile of blood, his bones snapping back into the place. The feryran with the knuckle dusters spits to the side, dragging her cloak over her bite wounds. Kuro rushes to my side, weaving around me in a protective formation.

Bloodstain herself steps onto the field. 

She’s tall, every bit as elegant as I was told, and her movements are filled with a sharp, bitter violence. Her brand, a rune of bright-red scar, criss crosses her forehead down to her eye. Raven hair spills down her back in thick curls. Her tan skin shines bronzen, with that telltale metallic sheen of a feryran, and her blood-red eyes sweep across us.

Thatch breathes. His authority triggers, and he returns to his human shape. The rage retreats back into him as if he’s an endless void, and within a single heartbeat, he finds peace. For another moment, he wrestles with the monster, with who he is, but then his eyes open, emerald, and he smiles.

“Bloodstain,” he greets her, arms wide. “So glad to meet you.”

The woman smiles, but it’s not a kind expression. It’s the kind of feral hunger of a serial killer. The kind of look that says she sees Thatch as a delectable morsel, something she can snuff out at any time. Despite that, she very gently reaches a long arm to her chin, tilting her head slightly.

“My, I didn’t expect you to be so handsome,” she says. Opal looks at me and smirks. Sylves lets out a soft huff. Thatch groans slightly. Her eyes narrow at the noise, but none of us interrupt her. So, she continues. “You’re…”

“Hush,” Cleaver supplies raggedly, his voice dry and cracked. He spits again, two of his teeth clattering to the side. Blood flows down his face, and he still grins. 

“Hush…” Bloodstain says, tasting the words in her mouth. Her lips curl into a smile, and she steps closer. “We can work with that. I do so sincerely apologize for the trouble my kids have caused,” she says without an ounce of sympathy, “but given the stains, I’ll consider it a paid debt. Which makes us even, yes?”

Thatch frowns, but nods. “Sure, even. Blood for blood.”

“A man of so few words,” Bloodstain says dramatically, but her frown only lasts for a moment. Then she grins again, stepping yet closer to Thatch. She even reaches out, a single, long nail hovering just an inch above his skin, right where she might carve a bloodrune on him that’d mirror hers. “I heard you wanted to speak to me, though.” She tilts her head, smile unwavering. “So speak.”

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