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Arcanist - Chapter 59
🕑 Added 2025-03-28 18:21:34 +0000 UTCThe poisonous fog washed off from the giant coffin’s lid like the waves of a dark sea, coiling subtly around the edges and spreading its poisonous influence across the hall. Through the pillars, the waves slithered like snakes out sniffing for fresh prey, as slowly, insidiously, the thick shroud made its way toward their group.
Valens felt a touch around the nape of his neck, then it was down his back, spreading over his skin like an infectious disease. He could feel the stubborn insistence of the fog as it tried to seep into his body, and in the midst of it, coming from deep under the ground, were whiffs of pure mana being sucked toward the Fiend’s battered body strapped across the coffin’s surface.
It’s corrupting the pure mana coming from the manastones inside the tunnel to fill the hall with this venomous fog.
The bloody circles drawn about the ground were all resonating with that creature’s Resonance, and each of the mana waves passed through one of the circles before gravitating toward the Fiend’s body, tainted by a unique set of frequencies during the process.
Interesting. This looks oddly similar to the way Lord Zahul’s fog worked, though the undead had a useless lung to spread the corrupted source across their bodies, while here, the pure mana from the manastones gains a poisonous quality as they pass through the Fiend’s body before being ejected outward.
Theoretically, there was nothing wrong with the practice, but it didn’t seem possible to Valens that a single Fiend would be enough to poison such an egregious amount of mana all by itself even if it had a giant reservoir of venom inside of it.
So, there was something else at play here, and he had a good guess as to what it could be.
It’s that shard. Even from here, I can feel the foul mana inside of it. There’s an ocean’s worth of source in that thing, and it’s feeding the Fiend— Wait. No. It’s not feeding the Fiend, it’s feeding what’s beneath that coffin. Isn’t it the Weeping Horror, isn’t it? The giant-eye monster I had the pleasure to meet before?
That familiar haunting presence hung over his head like a ghost, but unlike the first time they had met, Valens could now retain the clarity of his mind against its probes. Still, he wasn’t amused by the notion that he had to endure a sickly, slimy touch at each second which felt like he was being violated in a twisted way.
I’ve experienced worse.
He shifted slightly to the side as the coffin’s lid creaked slowly open. Captain Edric and the other Templars stood facing the giant structure, swords already drawn, fog bouncing gently off their armors. The golden hue covering their plates shaded their expressions, but Valens could see that there was a stiffness to their posture, a certain unease, unlike their general air of confidence.
I wonder if they’re feeling the same exact thing I did when I saw that creature. The obscurity, the sheer enormity of it was like a wall being pressed upon my soul. I’m glad it’s mostly gone.
There was a reason for that. A pair of notifications had blinked before his eyes when he took a step into the hall.
[You have felt the presence of a Terror.]
[Terrors have no authority upon an Ancient’s soul.]
Even if he wasn’t aware of the particulars, it was clear that the reason why he could stand straight while the Templars strained against the presence was his origins.
That should’ve been a soothing fact.
That should’ve come as a relief to him.
But there was one thing that troubled his mind.
The more he looked at that coffin and considered the implications, the more he came to realize a single question was still left unanswered.
It didn’t matter if he wasn’t terrified of the creature. It didn’t matter he hadn’t felt the shivers under its presence. If it was the same entity that he’d seen inside the chest cavity of that Shrieker that would come out of that coffin, then being brave and heroic wouldn’t change a damn thing.
How could anyone fight against a being the size of a mountain?
I think we’re about to find out.
A tip of a tendril. That was the first thing. A tip of a tendril stretching ever so slowly from the slight gap of the coffin’s lid, growing larger with shadows squirming upon it, a limb of translucent flesh drifting mindlessly through the giant hall. Fog clung to it in hosts of wriggling clouds, getting sucked in from the head-sized pores that opened up all around its surface.
A singularly ill-looking tendril, Valens thought, surely it’s not going to be the end of it.
The tip of the tendril curled itself sideways and drew back toward the coffin, latching onto the slight opening of the lid. It clasped tight around the edge of the coffin and began pulling at it.
‘Mistress…’
‘Mistress…’
‘Mother.’
Whispers echoed in Valens’s mind as he caught sight of the horrifying monstrosity resting inside the coffin. It was of flesh and blood, of dark matter coalesced into tentacle-like limbs floating around a giant eyeball. Vein-like strands riddled its surface, too dark in color to be of blood, but still emanating a reddish hue. Its sclera was a slick, shifting sea of oily black, constantly undulating as if made of liquid shadow.
And its Resonance… was one distant weeping.
[Weeping Horror(Remnant) - Level ???]
Inferno came alive as Valens decided it was high time he stopped staring at the eye and do something about it. He stretched a part of the burning storm through the ground, setting one bloody circle after another ablaze, washing them off with raging flames. Cutting the supply of mana seemed as good a start as any, but he had a bad feeling that the creature had already eaten its fill since it was coming out.
So he quested for the Gravitating Earth in the depths of his mind before reaching forth to the marble pillars around him. He felt each of them. They were not just marble but made of some complex alloy, resisting his pull as if the very foundation of them were nailed deep into the core of the world. Strong, sturdy. Let alone dozens of them, he couldn’t even break one—
A giant sword crushed into the closest pillar with blinding force, bit deep into it and sent a shower of fist-sized rocks flying about the hall. They clanked loudly against the ground, and rolled off into the distance. Then Dain was pulling at the sword, growling through the gap of his teeth with his frequencies screaming over the Resonance. Captain Edric and Garran followed his example by picking a pillar each.
Looks like we’re of the same mind.
The Templars too have decided to cut the support structure of the giant thing and bring it down to their level. In that way, they could at least somewhat see eye to eye with the Weeping Horror.
Valens helped them by using the Gravitating Earth to twist the inner structures of the pillars that had their bowels split open by the Templars and found that once the outer shell was removed, handling them came as easy as pulling at simple dirt.
One. Two. Three. In moments, a dozen of the pillars started swaying precariously over the hall, cracks running through their faces as they began crumbling down. The resulting smoke of the destruction vanished into the Weeping Horror’s venomous fog, making the ethereal shroud thicker as it pressed on.
The worst part was that the insidious influence of the creature was taking its toll on Valens’s sound vision. It dampened the frequencies around him so much that he had to rely on mere sight to find his way inside the shroud, using the Templars who shone like man-shaped light bulbs in the depths of it.
It was this way that their group managed to stick close to each other, and waited, in nervous expectation, as the giant coffin shifted with a loud crack from where it hung over the hall.
And then it began to fall.
Right toward them.
That might’ve not been the most sensible thing to do here.
Valens sprang forward, Light Feet pushing him on as a long shadow fell over their group, through the fog with Templars in tow, golden lights stabbing into his eyes, the weeping of the frequencies growing sharper still.
Better to carry on than think too much about it.
That was becoming something of a Code in this world, and Valens had no qualms about sticking to it. The Resonance, however, was not making this any easier. It was a chorus of voices in the din. More like senseless mumblings of a group of women who cried, and wept, and screamed in times as if they were bereft of the things most precious to them.
Mixed into their pleas were words calling out to their children. Lost. Vanished. Sent off into the depths of the Weeping Sea for variable reasons which had a simple, common ground: the kids were sick, and needed care. Such desperation that forced these unfortunate women into believing a monster of the depths could prove remedy to their misery.
Valens didn’t blame them because he understood it now.
This being was the reason why a dozen Miners were killed the moment they came in close to this place. This being was the reason why their bodies started devouring themselves. This being was the main culprit that altered their Resonances with its vile poison.
And if it could turn a man’s body against itself, it could do whatever it wanted with anyone once the fog took control.
Even now, as the shadow of the coffin bore down at him, Valens could feel the sickly touch trying to ooze underneath his skin, aiming for his chest, seeking to prey upon the very thing that made Valens who he was.
His core.
His soul.
You can’t take it.
The coffin crashed into the ground, splintering the tiles into a thousand fractured pieces, the force sending a tremor through the entire hall. Debris flew like shrapnel, pillars groaned under the shockwave, and the venomous fog exploded outward in a thick, writhing storm.
From the shattered remnants of the lid, hundreds of tendrils surged forth; coiling, snapping, stretching across the hall. Some were thick as tree trunks, veined and pulsing, others thin as threads with their tips gleaming with dark, sharp lights, all moving with one singular purpose.
To reach him.
He barely had a heartbeat to react.
With Gravitating Earth, the tiles rose like a wall beneath his feet, launching him backward as a cluster of tendrils slammed down where he had stood, crushing stone like wet clay. Another wall rose to meet them. Then another one, but there were just too many of them, and some of the tendrils were clever enough to skirt around his spells.
The Templars turned swiftly to get to his aid, Captain Edric leading them as his sword carved a bloody way through the fleshy limbs, Dain blasting forth in a storm of golden lights, Garran roaring with laughter as dark blood spattered over his armor.
They hacked, they stabbed, and they pressed on with burning fury through the chaos, allowing Valens to take a breath. He found himself alone for a moment, watching the scene with a cold detachment even as the anger he felt for the lost women tried to prevail over the Apathy.
He had already crossed the boundaries that he swore he would hold dear all of his life. He had already made an example of himself by defying what was unjust, what was clearly an attempt at turning not just him, but all Magi into obedient slaves too eager to prove they were useful to their Masters.
And those Masters… They did their best to maintain their tight control over the slaves. They did it because they were afraid. Afraid of what they could become. Afraid that given a chance to breathe, those same slaves could burn their ranks like flies caught in a wildfire.
They were right.
Valens let go of the Apathy and embraced the anger within as the giant eye loomed from beyond the surge of its limbs. It wasn’t looking at Captain Edric, nor did it care for Garran and Dain as they tore through flesh and blood.
No. The Weeping Horror was looking at him, and him only. And there in its gaze was fear.
......
Comments
Stephen Pearson
Likewise! Thanks for the chapter:-)
CloudyBall
Frothing at the mouth. I NEED the next chapter. Man, this series is one banger after another. Love your work
Louis-Marie
Thanks for the chapter! I can't wait for tomorrow
