Tara breathed as mana flowed through her body, the path familiar yet changed. She felt her teeth sharpening, fur sprouting from her skin, and her temperature rose, energy suddenly filling her. Before she completed the transformation, she funneled the mana back into her core, and the changes reverted.
Tara exhaled, her body back to normal, and smiled. There was no nausea, no pain, and no disorientation as she reverted. The transformation was clean, quick, and, most importantly, fully under her control.
This exercise had, once again, been Nephthys’s guidance. Rather than focusing on manually casting a new spell, she should sharpen her transformation ability, which she was already casting manually, even if she did not realize it.
Her transformation, previously guided by her tattoos, had been her greatest weapon in the Strip thus far. Those damned slave collars seemed to block all external manifestations of mana, meaning that both spells and skills were functionally unusable while worn. However, they did not seem able to restrict mana within one’s own body, and Tara’s transformation required no spell form, no externalization of mana.
She had no idea how it worked, but it seemed to use raw mana as a transformative force, some handshake between bodily instinct and magic. She had no proof of this, but she imagined it was closer to the way beasts and monsters used magic than people. While she was unfamiliar with monster magic, she could not imagine a dumb beast creating a spell form to breathe fire.
Of course, her parents would have much more information to give her, if—
She shook her head, ridding herself of unproductive thoughts. The important thing was that her transformation was under control, and thus, now a reliable way to defend herself rather than a last-ditch effort.
She leaned back on her arms, sitting cross-legged on the ground of the training chamber, and glanced over at Nephthys, who seemed wholly focused on her conversation with Ramose. She had scarcely seen Ramose disagree with Nephthys, much less argue, so this was quite the spectacle.
“Again, I appreciate the thought, Ramose, but the more people who go, the more attention we will gather. I intend to scout, not be scouted,” Nephthys said, her exasperation managing to cut through her usual aloofness.
“My lady, I agree wholeheartedly. That is why I am recommending Thaleia. She is the stealthiest of the lieutenants, and—” Ramose explained.
“Ramose, Thaleia is not only part of Nemesis’s defense force, but she is also essential in our scouting operations here. Her summons, specifically, are uniquely suited for that purpose. We cannot have my singular scouting mission become the only scouting we do. She is needed here.
“I was trying not to say this, Ramose, but do you really think that anyone in Nemesis, yourself included, would be capable of defending me from a threat that I cannot handle myself? I am sorry to step on yours or anyone else’s pride, but I am the most capable fighter here,” Nephthys declared, staring Ramose in the eyes.
“Of course, my lady. However, anyone in Nemesis would be capable of sacrificing themselves to buy time for you to—” Ramose started.
“Stop. I do not want anyone thinking that way. I need capable people who are going to stay with me and run the guild, not sacrificial pawns to throw away at the first sign of danger.
“I will also not overlook the implication that I am incapable of evaluating threats myself. I apologize if this fact harms whatever image you have spent two centuries crafting of me in your mind, but I did not arrive at my current power by foolishly rushing into every battle presented to me. I have fled the field plenty of times, and I survived and grew stronger because of it.
“I will not hesitate to run, should the situation call for it,” she said firmly.
Tara subconsciously nodded along. It was only logical. She had witnessed plenty of strong fighters from the clans lost in battles they should have fled or never should have engaged in. Pride was a killer in Ashreach just as assuredly as the land and monsters.
She blinked back to reality, finding that Nephthys and Ramose were now discussing logistics. Had she zoned out for that long? Stretching, she realized how tired she actually was. All she had done for the past few hours was cycle her mana, but even that had exhausted her like physical exercise.
“—do not know the exact customs, I have participated in society before, so I have a much better chance at assimilating and going unnoticed than anyone else,” Nephthys concluded, which Ramose, reluctantly, agreed with a nod.
“You’re going like…that?” Tara asked suddenly, motioning generally toward Nephthys.
Nephthys and Ramose both looked at her, then at Nephthys, then back at Tara.
“Yes?” Nephthys replied, clearly unsure of the issue.
“You really think you’ll avoid attention with that ring of lights spinning above your head, or the lines of stars across your skin? Even that shiny armor, which looks outrageously expensive, will draw every eye in the world. Never mind avoiding attention, you’ll be the talk of the town before the sun even sets,” Tara declared.
Nephthys and Ramose, once again, exchanged looks, and Nephthys’s body began to morph. Suddenly, the lines of stars vanished, as her skin took on a natural—if pale—color. The purple highlights faded from her hair until it was completely black. The ring above her head disappeared, and her eyes shifted to a pure white, which was still attention-grabbing, in Tara’s opinion, but not nearly so much as before.
Ramose blinked several times as he watched.
“I am surprised to see a Transmogrify rather than a simple illusion, my lady,” he mused.
“The whole of Ashreach is a high-level zone. The chances of running into someone who can pierce a simple illusion will be high,” Nephthys reasoned, her impassive tone and visage unchanged by the transformation.
“A wise decision,” Ramose acknowledged, eliciting another barely discernible eye roll from Nephthys.
“I’m coming, too,” Tara declared, standing and folding her arms before her.
Nephthys and Ramose stared at her for several long moments, studying her. Tara, for her part, held her chin high and did her best to radiate confidence and authority.
“...why?” Nephthys finally asked.
“You changed your appearance, but you can’t change your mannerisms so quickly. I’ve been to Promise City before. I’ll help you blend in. Do you even know how to enter the city? You can’t just walk through the front gate. I do, though,” Tara declared confidently.
She stood with her feet shoulder-width apart, one hand on her hip and the other pointing at Nephthys, the very image of confidence. It helped that Nephthys was not nearly as intimidating in this more recognizable form, though the aura of disconcern she emitted still discomforted Tara instinctively.
Nephthys and Ramose glanced at each other, both communicating something through their gaze.
“My lady, crossing the Fungloam with a child will be complicated—” Ramose started quietly, as though Tara was not obviously within earshot.
“I’m not a child, and I’ve crossed it before,” she said.
Her face paled, and she resisted the urge to cover her mouth with both hands. That trip was not only something she did not want to speak of, but it was also not nearly as easy as she made it out to be. The circumstances were wildly different from ‘crossing the Fungloam.’
Ramose stared at her, incredulous. Nephthys seemed appraising, as if her curiosity was piqued, though Tara was unsure whether that was a good or bad thing.
“You can come,” Nephthys finally said. Ramose turned toward her to protest, but she headed him off. “We will be going over the Fungloam anyway. Its toxin is irrelevant to me, and as long as we are above the clouds, it will not be a concern for her, either.”
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Nephthys stared at the clouds below, enraptured by their beauty. They were white and fluffy, normal in every way save one: a shimmer of gold, just barely visible within the sea of cotton. Though the shimmer was hardly perceptible, the sun's reflections were cast in golden rays and all directions, as if the clouds were host to divine essence.
These were the clouds that dumped a perpetual rain on the Fungloam, ensuring the perfect damp, dark environment for the fungus below. Though it was beautiful, Nephthys knew it was a deceptive beauty, like the reflection off a snake’s scales as it lunged.
The Fungloam was a region dominated by various mycetes, all controlled by a central sort of ‘intelligence’, though it was still a fungus. Its logic and operation were completely alien to her human mind. It was generally passive, though part of the region’s danger came from its hivemind.
The main source of danger was the spores, the very things that gave the clouds such beauty. They rode on the air, infecting lungs, skin, and eyes, and anywhere they came into contact with. The spores would burrow into a victim’s body, aiming for the bloodstream with an almost intelligent drive. Once they arrived at the victim’s brain, it was over.
The victim’s mind would be consumed, subsumed, replaced.
These hosts would then wander the Gloam, completely passive unless provoked. If you could survive the spores, the danger of the region was already dramatically reduced. However, if you had the misfortune of antagonizing even a single one of the ‘walkers’, as they were affectionately called by players, nearly the entire region’s population of other walkers would fall on you like a swarm of piranha.
Several players in Prelude made their bases in the region, not just for the resources contained within it, but also as a sort of trophy. There were only a few methods of combating the spores, and they were all expensive for various reasons. However, Ashreach was all about PvP, so invariably, those bases would be raided, and dealing with the spores while also defending your base was untenable for most.
By far the most effective method for combating the spores was simply to be a species that they could not infect. This was the case for Djinn, whose bodies were entirely made of mana, so the region held no threat to Nephthys.
“It’s almost pretty from up here. You’d scarcely know what a terror the ground is,” Tara remarked, floating next to Nephthys.
She had taken a while to acclimate to flying, though not as long as Nephthys might have expected. Probably, the ease with which she adjusted spoke both to her own adaptability and the fact that Nephthys was the one casting and maintaining the magic. All Tara really had to do was figure out how to remain upright.
“There is beauty in all things, even the mire below. The mushrooms are…not to my personal taste, but they are rather incredible, regardless,” Nephthys said, wrinkling her nose.
Truthfully, she had both fond and harsh memories of the place. As difficult as defending a base in the spores was, assaulting it was even harder, and Nephthys had participated in many of those assaults.
With a flash, her armor vanished and was placed back in her storage. A robe of navy blue with gold trim around the hem now covered her from neck to toe. While not quite form-fitting, it was far from one of those flowy robes that one might associate with a wizard. She had never cared for loose clothing trailing behind her, getting in her way.
It was decorated with intricate stitching in blue fabric, soft and shiny like silk. There were various symbols for different schools of magic, as well as depictions of monsters and weapons. This was the Magus Aplomb, a robe that Nephthys had made custom in Nemesis, with her master crafters.
While her Prime artifact was the strongest combat armor in her possession, this robe had ferried her safely through the highest levels and even past the soft cap. It was enchanted to be an ‘everyday’ garment, with enchantments for both mana efficiency and casting cost reductions. It was layered with defensive enchantments, though they took a back seat to the magic-enhancing ones.
“That’s…better, I guess,” Tara said, shrugging.
Nephthys resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew it was an extravagant robe. She had designed it to be. However, this was Ashreach. The people here should be the cream of the crop, all in the highest levels. She wanted to blend in with a crowd of high-level people, who would also undoubtedly have their own artifacts and powerful gear.
With a quick refresh of the Fly spell, she and Tara rocketed off, parting the air before them and sending shockwaves rippling out. It would only take a few hours to reach Promise City, and Nephthys would be lying if she said she was not excited to glimpse civilization for the first time since she arrived in this world.
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