Evil Cluster 1st "The wandering warlock"

The ground cracked beneath Nero and Larinca’s feet, forcing them apart. The warlock’s magic was powerful: a kind of magic Nero had never seen before. His defensive glyphs seemed completely useless, as they weren’t being attacked by anything familiar: no magical energy projectiles, no glyphs, no direct blows. The warlock was simply channeling so much magic that it overflowed, affecting an already dangerous environment.

Nero stepped back, paying close attention to where he placed his feet. But the ground was splitting faster than he could react, so he had to leap to the side, hitting his head and back against a volcanic stone stalagmite. He grabbed onto it to avoid falling, and the heat burned the tips of his fingers.

But there was no time to think. The warlock kept unleashing waves of magical energy, forcing Larinca to retreat, only she had no space left to move, as she was headed toward a lava lake. On top of that, the magic was like a beacon, attracting demons from all across the fumaroles.

Sighing, Nero placed the tip of his wand on the ground and began to channel his own magic, releasing it: wild and untamed. He was no match for the warlock, but at least this way, the ground would stop breaking apart.

—It won’t work! —said a voice near his waist.

He looked, puzzled. It was Professor Morgana’s plush toy, now standing upright, it had come to life, possessed by the professor.

—Don’t just stand there! Defend yourself! —said Professor Morgana.

Nero reacted almost on instinct. He raised his wand, conjuring destruction glyphs. But his ethics got in the way. He wasn’t used to facing people in life-or-death duels. During training, he had destroyed demons. Even during the time he lived with his mother in the city beyond the castle of Sylthmir, he had destroyed demons in bursts of raw magic, but, people? No.

His glyphs collapsed.

Far from him, Larinca acted with focus. Around her, engraved runes of motionless freeze formed, and the ground petrified, keeping her safe. But far from hesitating, she attacked the wandering warlock. Her magic style was unique, like her. She summoned a glyph and, holding her paper bag, a torrent of uncooked food came pouring out, slamming into the warlock’s chest and knocking him down.

Nero conjured defensive glyphs again, trying to trap the warlock, just as he had done with Valentio at the academy. But the warlock was far more skilled than the two of them combined, and he conjured a single glyph: the engraved rune of scorching death. It was one of the most powerful fire glyphs, and also one of the deadliest. The warlock tilted his staff until it pointed at Nero and projected his magic. The lava on the ground began to surge in jets. Although Nero was quick, one of the jets struck his sleeve.

—Hey! That hurts! —said Nero. He quickly tore off what remained of the sleeve, revealing his arm.

—What is that? —asked Professor Morgana’s plush toy, pointing at Nero’s arm.

It was Nero’s birthmark: a magical symbol, complex and drawn into his skin like a rune.

—It’s a mark I’ve had since I was born —said Nero, covering it with his other arm.

—That mark… that’s not possible —said Professor Morgana’s plush toy.

The warlock attacked again, this time using all three forms of combat: he projected the glyph at Nero again, while overflowing magic from his staff in waves, and at the same time, launched himself physically at Nero, swinging the staff like a club.

But Nero was a devil. He opened his mouth and inhaled. The raw magic flowed into him, empowering him, regenerating his wounds, and wiping away his exhaustion. His canines grew slightly. His horns began to glow. And the mark on his arm darkened the veins around it, as if healing from the inside.

Unleashing strength he didn’t even know he had, Nero engaged the warlock in physical combat. They exchanged punches and kicks while hurling glyphs, destructive ones from the warlock, defensive ones from Nero, who still clung to the idea of capturing him alive, incapacitated. Fortunately, and unfortunately, at the distance they were fighting, none of the spells landed a direct hit.

Suddenly, the warlock stumbled. His feet were surrounded up to the ankles in… cake?

—Now! —shouted Larinca, who had intervened at the perfect moment.

Nero stepped back and trapped the warlock with all his defensive glyphs, binding his hands and feet. The man collapsed to the ground, dropped his staff, and began to bleed from the nose.

But even though Nero was fully focused, the warlock was more powerful than him and could break free at any moment.

—He’s too strong! —said Nero— He’s going to escape!

The warlock looked at him with his one good eye. His expression was one of hatred, but it was a hollow hatred, emotionless, like he didn’t care what was happening.

—Your father sends his regards —said the warlock in a faint voice.

Nero released his magic, stunned. That man knew his father. The warlock opened his mouth and reached for the staff on the ground, but before he could get up or speak another spell, Larinca’s knife pierced his throat. Blood poured from the warlock’s mouth as he collapsed to the ground, clutching his wounded neck.

Without hesitation, Larinca stabbed him in the face several more times. When the warlock reached up with his hand, she used her wand with her other hand to cut off his fingers, and then split his forearm in two.

Nero watched in horror. His friend was mercilessly killing a man.

—It was him or us —said Larinca, wiping sweat and blood from her uniform sleeve.

—But… —Nero stammered.

—No buts, Nero —insisted Larinca—. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?

Nero checked himself. He had some bruises and shallow wounds, a couple of bleeding cuts, and his uniform sleeves were torn, but nothing serious or fatal.

—I’m okay —he said, still shaken.

—You’re in shock —said Larinca—. But we need to go. The fight has attracted a lot of demons, and we can’t stay here. We’ll leave the corpse as a distraction. Do you want anything from what he’s carrying?

—Are you going to loot the body? —Nero asked, horrified.

—Why is that a problem? —said Professor Morgana’s plush toy.

—Have you connected with her? Hello, Professor! —said Larinca, waving enthusiastically at the plush toy.

—Good work with that warlock. I like your style, young lady —said the plush toy, nodding.

Nero still felt completely off balance. The whole scene was surreal. His best friend was talking to a plush toy about how they had just killed a man in cold blood, covered in blood, surrounded by demons, in a hostile environment.

He vomited. Everything in his stomach spilled onto the ground, mixing with the food Larinca had used to immobilize the warlock. It had already begun to rot due to the heat of the ground.

—He… he mentioned my father —said Nero.

—He didn’t say a word, boy —said Professor Morgana’s plush toy.

—I heard him —said Nero.

—I didn’t, Nero. Are you sure he said something? —said Larinca.

Nero hesitated. Only he had heard the warlock. Was he losing his mind?

While he doubted everything he thought was true, Larinca pulled him up by the armpit and forced him to run. Nero, completely dazed, let himself be carried along.

The next four days were spent wandering the fumaroles. Larinca had mapped a path toward the territory of Barust, one of the great archdemons. Nero hadn’t wanted to eat or talk at all. The atmosphere had become tense. Professor Morgana hadn’t possessed the plush toy again, so it was just the two of them, along with Hollow, who was the only one showing any signs of cheerfulness.

The demons hadn’t pursued them. Larinca had dealt with a couple of creatures that stalked them at night, and Nero, during one of his watches, had unleashed all his rage on a demon that hadn’t even been hunting them, just occupying the same cave they had chosen for shelter.

They had lost track of time. The catacombs had that effect, but Nero hadn’t expected it to be so severe. Being unable to see the sun’s cycle, not even through clouds, made it impossible to know if it was day or night, if they should sleep or keep moving. They ate when they were hungry, but it was clear both of them had lost weight.

—We can’t keep going like this —said Larinca suddenly, during one of their breaks. They had sat near a lava puddle, filled with fireproof or flaming insects.

Nero looked at her, but his gaze was distant.

—I need you to snap out of it, Nero. I need you to remember why we came here —said Larinca, offering him a bowl filled with freshly cut fruit. It was cool and smelled amazing. Nero’s stomach growled, and he gave in to his needs. He devoured the fruit hungrily, even choking on it.

—I… I’m sorry —said Nero, once he had regained some strength.

—Do you realize the situation we’re in? —asked Larinca.

—Yes —said Nero, hesitantly.

—I don’t think you do. Listen carefully: we’re in the final trial of our graduation from Raven’s Order Academy! —said Larinca— If we don’t form a pact with a demon, we won’t be allowed to return!

—You’re going to kill me, aren’t you? —said Nero, burying his head in his hands.

—Our sacrifices aren’t something we should be talking about —said Larinca, looking away.
—There’s no one else. It’s just you and me, and one of us has to die for the other to get their pact. Is it really that valuable to you that you’d kill your best friend? —said Nero.

Larinca didn’t answer. She just clenched her fists on her knees and remained silent, staring at the ground.

—You knew what you were getting into —Larinca said at last—. At least I came prepared. You’re carrying that huge backpack, but the most important thing—mental preparation—you didn’t do.

Nero wanted to respond, but all he wanted was to accuse her of things. And he knew it wasn’t fair. When he had joined Raven’s Order Academy, he had accepted the terms. That was how things always were in Sylthmir—there was no other way. He could have withdrawn at any time, but he hadn’t. Deep down, Nero wanted to be there. He wanted to earn the pact.
“But not at any cost,” he thought.

—Larinca, I’m sorry. I’m not cut out for this. I shouldn’t have started the descent —said Nero.

—It’s a bit late to back out —said Larinca.

—Why? Because I’ll be killed? Because I’ll fail? Because I might run and become a wandering warlock, like the one from… from the other day? —said Nero.

—No. Because we’ve reached our destination. That —she said, pointing toward a cave in the middle of a lava river—, is Barust’s lair.

Nero jumped to his feet. He hadn’t noticed it until that moment. The silence. The stillness. The absence of other demons, of the oppressive feeling that had followed them the entire way.

—Barust —said Nero—. An archdemon.

—He’s the one we came to make a pact with —said Larinca—. The demon of wrath.

—Barust is a demon full of fury, perfect for the calmer ones, like both of you —said Professor Morgana’s plush toy, suddenly.

—We’re going in, aren’t we? —said Nero.

—Yes —said Larinca—. But you must trust me. Everything will be fine. Just—whatever you do, don’t give up in there. Don’t surrender, or it will be the end for both of us.

—Is it another test? —said Nero.

—Yes. The final one —said Larinca. Then she corrected herself—: well, the second to last. You know.

Nero nodded. He wasn’t convinced, but one of the rules imposed by the academy forbade fleeing. Not only would he end up in trouble, but his friend would too. So, he chose to move forward, unaware of what awaited inside the cave.

Upon passing through the opening, they noticed the walls were covered in rune symbols. They were ancient, carved into the rock walls with something sharp and durable. They told Barust’s story in a grim, macabre way. They spoke of rage, of blazing fury that never faded, of betrayal and bottled-up wrath. These were things Nero knew well, though he tried to keep them under control as best he could.

The cave descended. In addition to the engravings on the walls, there was also a chiseled path on the ground. Lava illuminated the trail from the sides, guiding them deeper into Axbryn. They saw skeletons running in the darkness, but the skeletons seemed to ignore them, so they decide to ignore the skeletons too.

After over an hour of walking, the heat became unbearable. All the water they had brought had evaporated, and even the sweat that had run down their foreheads during the journey was now dry. Nero’s tongue felt like sandpaper, and he could no longer speak. Larinca kept walking, silently, but showing signs of severe dehydration. Her arms were bruised, and her eyes were reddened far beyond normal. Hollow was hiding inside Nero’s backpack, his composition too affected by the heat.

Suddenly, the path split. The trail ended there, in front of two identical tunnels. Nero tried to speak, but the darkness swallowed his words. Larinca leaned against one of the walls and let her body slide to the ground.

—N… n… no… —said Nero with great effort. He reached a hand out to Larinca. That was what Larinca had told him not to do.

But it was truly difficult. The place was an oven. The darkness was nearly complete. The silence was so oppressive they could hear their own heartbeats. It was maddening.

Nero collapsed to the ground. But it was no longer ground: it was human bones. Tibias. Femurs. Skulls. Nero gasped, sinking into the bones. He flailed arms and legs, trying to swim without water. He grabbed onto a skull, which laughed and clattered its jaw as if still alive. A skeletal hand grabbed his ankle. Another, his forehead, resting on his head. The skeletons were coming to life.

Nero fought. He didn’t know where his wand was. So, he punched, braced against tailbones, ribs, and hands, trying to escape. Trying not to sink.

Fleshless fingers sank into his arm. A skull bit his waist. A kick tore his backpack away. In the darkness, he heard a whimper: it was Hollow, crying out for his life.

Nero released his magic. He couldn’t control it, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t know what had happened to Larinca, but he would not lose Hollow too, not if he could help it. His horns glowed blue. His birthmark burned with blue-green flames. His eyes lit up and his power surged.

Bones flew in every direction. The skeletons that had been holding him collapsed. Nero’s foot touched something solid, and he pushed off. He groped for the backpack. With his eyes closed, he tried to sense the faint divinity inside Hollow’s body.

After several frantic seconds fighting off the skeletons, he found it. It was right in front of him, just a few meters away. He channeled all his magic into his hands and, simultaneously, pushed and pulled. The skeletons exploded, turning into bone splinters. Some pierced his body, drawing blood. But the backpack returned to his hands. He hugged it. Hollow was inside. He had reunited with one of his friends.

Larinca was still missing.

But then something changed. Beneath his feet, the skeletons began to sink, dragging Nero with them. He fell and fell, out of control, but never letting go of the backpack, feeling Hollow shift inside.

Suddenly, he hit the ground. The skulls rolled away from him. He was in absolute darkness.

A light ignited, a candle, on a pedestal. There was a chalice and a book. Nero got up and approached it. It was a red book, with a blackened skull protruding from the cover. A quill and a dagger rested alongside the book on the pedestal.

The air became suffocating. Before Nero, a gigantic figure appeared. It was a colossal skeleton wreathed in flames, mounted on a burning, skeletal horse. The demon had one horn on each side of its head, large and twisted. He carried two swords, whose hilts were laughing skulls. Reality hit Nero like a hammer.

—Barust —said Nero, unable to take his eyes off the archdemon before him.

—WE GREET YOU, HALFBLOOD PRODIGY. YOU, WHO CATALYZE THE IMPOSSIBLE —said Barust, with a voice so deep that Nero fell to his knees.

The demon was overwhelming. He was completely unlike any demon Nero had seen before. The magic he radiated was pure, ancient, and violently malevolent. Nero knew that a single misstep would mean death at the archdemon’s hands.

And yet, he felt no fear. His body was paralyzed in terror, but his mind was calm, at peace. Barust’s presence shut down every fear receptor in his brain, rendering him immobile.

—THE DREAD HOUR HAS COME. SIGN THE BOOK, CATALYST. SEAL THE PAGES WITH YOUR BLOOD AND JOIN ME —said Barust, slowly moving a skeletal hand toward the pedestal.

Nero moved on instinct, not will. He ended up in front of the pedestal. The book’s pages flipped on their own. The sound was like bones breaking. Nero raised the dagger and placed his hand on the book. He made a clean cut across his palm and clenched his fist. Blood dripped from the wound onto the book, first drop by drop, then in a steady stream.

But upon touching the book, the blood vanished. Nero looked at the archdemon, confused.

—YOU STAND BEFORE US, HALFBLOOD PRODIGY, HAVING FAILED TO FULFILL YOUR PART OF THE PACT —said Barust—. HOW UNUSUAL.

Nero understood. The demon couldn’t seal the pact with him: he hadn’t killed anyone he loved. Focusing as much as he could, Nero conjured a small healing glyph over his hand, closing the wound.

—IS IT DEATH YOU SEEK, CATALYST? —said Barust, leaning toward Nero. The heat he emitted made the stone pedestal ignite in flames. The book remained intact, immune to its creator’s heat.

Nero shook his head vigorously. The contrast between the darkness and Barust’s flames made his eyes ache.

—PROVE IT —said Barust.

To Nero’s side, the ceiling opened. Dozens of bones and human skulls fell through the opening. And among them, coughing and convulsing, fell Larinca.