Chapter 118: Phase Two
There’s horror in that. My own mana, something that I’ve practiced so much, feels like it’s slipping through my hands like falling sand. Despite everything I’ve gone through in the tower, this is the worst thing yet.
It’s terrifying. I feel genuine fear race through me, my heart beating faster, my breath speeding up as more smoke pours into me. I close my mouth, I hold my breath, I scream inside.
And then, my epitaph rings.
A soft, chiming bell, in the back of my head. A steady, unyielding hole in my chest. The presence of who I am. And what that makes me.
I close my eyes.
Out there, the tigress prowls. She sneers at us, maybe even at me, I’m sure. But there is nothing I can do without my mana, so it doesn’t matter. I let that awareness fall into my apathy. I focus only on myself, and even without [Selection], the world narrows to a needle’s point.
My mana is stiff and unresponsive, but that doesn’t mean it’s no longer mine. It’s angry at this circumstance, and it rages against it, fighting in the same way that it does against the attunement loop. There’s some trick to this, some way that my build must be able to take it apart, I just need to find it, to convince myself of it.
Another heartbeat in the fog. I still hold my breath. My mana is fighting, already, so how can I assist? Brute force won’t work. I think back to the mist, to how it works. Like lightning, like electricity, the same spasms and stiffness. The same powerlessness.
But my body still moves.
The realization dawns on me in a moment, and I open my eyes, kneeling on the ground. With my finger, I trace something into the ground. It’s a rune, a simple, swift few strokes that break down the barest essentials of [Deconstruction], a tiny, flimsy piece of that skill imbued into the ground.
And yet, mana flows into it, and a bit of mist clears.
My hand, hovering above the working, feels free. The mana inside it moves. Already, I feel that insidious horror creeping in again. Somewhere around me, Bile yells, and then, claws rake across my back.
They shred my shirt, and flay my skin. I feel them scraping against the bones of my back, and the pain is enough to make my vision go white. It hurts so bad.
But the pain is okay. I live through it, I keep my eyes open even as they tear up, I focus on my hand, where my mana courses. And there, into my own skin, I place an imbuement of [Deconstruction].
[Inscription 15 > 17]
[Solidification 16 > 17]
It’s a looping, self-sustained enchantment. It feeds on my mana, breaks apart the fog, and that feeds into my mana some more. It hurts, though. It hurts terribly.
But also, as the fog crumbles apart, and more mana flows into my vessel, I feel a change. My stat ticks up by one, naturally, and the threshold breaks.
My mana, suddenly, fights against its shackles twice as hard. It grows in volume, far more than a single point should make it grow. It feeds on me, on my skills, my achievements, my epitaph, and suits me more. Slightly, it discolours, but much more than that, it grows vaster. More and more and more of it yet seems to bubble from my vessel.
It’s stronger, regenerates faster, and there’s more of it. My capacity must have… not quite doubled, but something near that. I breathe in, and the fog breaks apart, even as the imbuement of my own flesh and blood hurts like fire through my veins. I grit my teeth, and keep it running. I breathe to deal with the pain, even as the influx of fog makes everything hurt worse.
I breathe.
[Job up! Imbuer 12 > 14]
Then, there is a pause. The tigress’ eyes flicker to yellow. The pain recedes, slightly, and then, one moment to another, she’s upon me. Her injured legs still propel her forward, and I feel a pull on my mind. This, too, seems familiar. This, too, breaks.
My mana roars out of my vessel. It tears into the boss with brutal efficiency, dismantling and unwreathing her flash. Teeth that were about to crash into me break. Solid mana crystallizes within her mouth, bigger than I ever managed before, barring it from closing. I jump back, images of pain still burnt into my flesh.
She roars, and her eyes flicker azure. Bolts of lightning materialize - then slow down. Two of them miss as I dodge. The third lances at me, reaches my skin, brushing me like a soft touch-
Then shatters into a thousand pieces of humming static. The skill clicks into place.
[Memorization 2 > 3]
And I add it to my library. Lightning shatters and scatters to the ground.
Opal [Blinks] in again, sword slamming a deep gash into the tigress’ back. It’s a brutal attack that leaves her stunned. Instantly, Amelie’s puppets are upon it again, and I see norman swing that scary knife of his into her hind legs, too.
Finally, spears of earth shear upwards and then-
The boss vanishes.
[You have defeated the Boss, three-eyes Kinju. In order to protect her avatar, the Earthmother has withdrawn the boss. You have received one minor Request.]
[Level Up! 49 > 53]
[Third Threshold (supremacy lv. 50) crossed! Please select a Mantle.]
Chapter 119: Mantles
A mantle.
It is what the Tower grants climbers upon reaching the third threshold. That is also the level requirement to go from the third floor to the fourth. And there is a lot to know about them.
Information flows into my head as it so often did, filling in the missing blanks about mantles. First and foremost, there is the detail that I already knew about them - they are a tool. One that is wreathed around the user’s body, allowing them to do… something. The unmaker’s mantle is a shroud of unweaving. It took apart corpses around them more easily, melding their flesh into defensive armament. The mindbreaker’s mantle was one of broken shadows, pale imitations of their feats that clung to them in a defensive shroud.
But they are more than that. Mantles, first and foremost, are meant for managing essence. Meant for claiming it, and also giving it. Every bit of essence distributed by the tower, whether in the shape of natural treasures or rewards for reaching levels or gaining classes, was generated by some living being. Almost always a living creature wielding a mantle.
In a lot of ways, a mantle is a living record of your deeds, while epitaphs are a living record of who you are. It strengthens naturally the more you do the thing it was designed to do, but it can also evolve to accommodate new concepts and feats, often being defined by class and job choices.
And finally, a mantle is a gift. Because it can be handed over to someone else.
A passing of the mantle is a sacred ritual in the tower, which requires approval from both parties, as well as the oversight of the tower itself. A mantle cannot be forced to be given. It cannot even willingly be handed over to someone tormenting you. There is one way a mantle can be passed on, and that is with reverence.
From one person to another, and only a stronger mantle to a weaker one. This ritual leaves the giver mantle-less, thought a remnant of their deeds remains. Some even go on to reforge their mantle, leaving descendants with all the inherited strength and forging a new legend for themselves. But that was rare, and usually, the passing of a mantle signalled a climber’s retirement.
In short, mantles were terribly malleable living legends that enhanced specific abilities and recorded deeds as a part of one’s strength. They could be passed on - even in fragments, actually - as well as worn with pride or hidden. With all that information filed away, I finally indulged my almost desperate curiosity and opened the menu.
[Mantle: Shroud of Shifting Shadows
You skulk in dark, you stalk and kill, you salt the earth, breathe in the thrill and prepare. A thousand traps, a dozen lies, a piece of bait, a dark disguise draws enemies into your jaws. Deceive and beguile, a web of half-truths and hidden bile, you draw in crowds, you stay in your shroud, as darkness welcomes you and I.]
[Mantle: Bearer of Broken Bodies
An army stands, before it falls, a siege upends, the world appalled, as corpses line the very streets you stand. Bones break, sinew shatters, flesh warped and skin in tatters. Death follows you in every step, you bring it to bear it without regret. So stand and look them in the eye, then break them, watch their last breath go by.]
[Mantle: Architect of the Assembled Archive
You watch, you break, you steal, you build. You kill and maim, and then distill, as people fall, then by your will, their parts shall be assembled, and in that semblance be remembered. Their skills unmade, their classes glimpsed, once witnessed they can’t be extinct. When parts are made part of the archive, they shall forever make you thrive. Be remade and then improved, their limits broken, their flaws removed; your path upwards shall be smooth.]
My eyes read over the description, drinking each one in. Shrouded, Bearer, and Architect. Those are my choices.
The first relates to my tactics, as well as Kuro being part of them, I think. Strangely, it seems to be almost stealth related. A mantle of shadows that grows ever denser, every time that I lie or kill someone with a trap. Which has been rather reliable, and I don’t plan on stopping it anytime soon.
Compared to the shroud, the second mantle looks more violent. Upfront and honest. It was very simple about making living bodies into dead ones, and I think its effects would be similarly honest. A penchant for death. Life around me would be snuffed out more easily, and my [Biological Restoration] would almost certainly gain a function for dealing harm, given the focus on bodies breaking. My [Deconstruction] would most likely start to be better at directly damaging others, too.
And then, finally, the Archive. A building library of skills that I have broken, classes I have taken parts of. It’s, I think, the most complex of them all, given that it uses the most of my skills. [Deconstruction], [Observation], [Memorization], probably [Selection] and maybe even [Intuition]. All in order to achieve the singular goal of gathering, understanding, using and improving skills used against me.
I want them all, damn it.
I want to shroud myself in darkness and hide away so that people don’t talk to me. I want the strength to break anyone who hurts my friends, and the flesh-shaping might go a long way to learning modification of biology and regrowing my arm. I want the archive of skills, I want to understand more of magic, I want to learn and grow and use it all.
And that final one is why I end up picking the mantle of the Architect.
A new section appears on my status, denoting it right below my job. I hold open the panel, and feel the change wash over me. With a breath, I call up parts of that page.
Name: Snow Okiyama - Ion
Floor: 3
Class: - 19 (II)
Job: - 14 (II)
Mantle: Architect of the Assembled Archive
The impact is obvious. Incredibly obvious. The mantle lays itself around my shoulders. It’s different from what I’ve seen, invisible to anyone but me unless I choose to manifest it. It’s crafted from geometry. Runic lines that move and shift, from one skill in my library to another. An ethereal, thin web, with the knowledge inside it.
Instantly, I can feel the change. How easy it has become to keep track of the skills I’ve taken apart, to modify them, and to even do false-casts of them. The mantle of the architects doesn’t do just that, though, it’s almost like the skills whisper to me about their function if I focus. A slow, leeching kind of knowledge that filters into me, one that I recognize.
Essence.
From each thing I’ve ever broken, a tiny trickle of essence flows into me. Each skill, each bit of a class that I’ve taken apart and reassembled in my memory sits there, providing me with awareness on how to shape and interact with it. The mantle is feeding me essence.
And, its final function of course. Like with all mantles, it’s manifestation. A physical conjuring of everything I’ve ever taken apart and understood. It’s not as effective as the true spells, but it also doesn’t really cost anything. It’s simply an inherent ability of the mantle, in the same way that my Abiding Apathy feeds me with mana whenever I take another skill apart.
I breathe, letting the changes settle, feeling my much solidified mental library. All of the skills sit there, in different stages of completeness, each modification I made existing as an added file. Like post-it notes in research books, or little pencil addons beneath a music sheet. Things that improve, things that are worse, little notes at points in the structure and what they do.
My healing skill sits in the middle as the one I have manipulated the most out of anything, by far. Jean’s skill is in the same category, a neighbour to my own, and the patterns of his are delineated, too. The loops and whorls that make it sticky, the bits I think supplement mana for calorie, the bits that might be reading the blueprint. Parts that are more suitable for permanent or lasting manifestation to increase regeneration, and bits that can be powered, then stored as marks.
And, finally, full organ restoration, like for my missing arm. There are dozens of iterations noted down, changes, approaches, different attempts. Each one just a bit better than the previous one, bringing back more healthy flesh with fewer deficiencies. It’s my greatest work yet.
Compared to the variety of that one, there is the simplicity of [Suppression] and [Selection].
The two skills I started with. I look at them in my mental library, the small addons I’ve made… and I still find them strangely perfect. Tailor made for me, where the only limit in application is how I actually choose to implement them. My mastery is the bottleneck - not the patterns of the skills. My ability to conjure them without the tower’s aid.
It also makes them supremely adaptable. An improvised musical performance. They let me invoke differing effects depending on my perspective. In the same way that [Suppression] can weaken a spell or slow its activation altogether, or [Selection]can be used to track, gain information, or act as a multiplier for any skill cast through it.
Looking at my library, the archive I’ve assembled, I smile just a little. There are new, tiny patterns, denoting the boss’ lightning skill, and even parts of that disruptive gas, which I’ve already filed away next to [Deconstruction], in order to include it in that magical toolbox. It’s wonderful. Having all these notes around and available.
Some have started to be distilled down into enchantable runes, too. It’s lovely. I love the library.
Taking a deep breath, I face the forest again, my mantle draped over my shoulders. Norman, Amelie, and Opal. We just had to make it to the fourth floor. That was the goal, now. And on the way, I’d break as much magic as I could, and grow my mantle as much as I could.
Chapter 120: To Go or Not
“That looks fucking sick,” Opal says with a wide grin, trying to run their fingers through my manifested mantle. Patterns of geometry, mockeries and fragments of skills that I’ve broken, fragment and rebuild around their fingers, a little like system windows when you touch them. I let Opal play with the somewhat amusing effect for a little while, as Amelie eyes the construction.
I raise an eyebrow at her, and she gives a slight smile. “It is fascinating,” she admits. “I am curious what it’s made of and how it has been woven. If I could make something similar…” she trails off, but doesn’t need to say anything else. There is a chance, I suppose, since mantles must have at least some correspondence with the actual articles of clothing, that her and Sylves might one day make something similar.
Not for a long while, though. I take a deep breath, looking over at Norman, who leans against an earthen wall, layering barrier after barrier, practicing his skills. After the boss shattered it so easily, and he got a dose of lightning, he’s busy doing that. I’ve already healed the burns criss-crossing his skin.
Of course, since he’s got a very normal and reasonable response to pain, he’s afraid of getting hurt again. Norman is, at his heart, a coward. There’s nothing particularly wrong or right about that, but I hope he figures it out soon, because then he can work on being brave. Being afraid and still walking forward.
Compared to him, I have it easy, since I don’t really feel all that much fear. I respect that about him, at least.
A small sigh spills from my lips as I modify the spells in my library some more. I mess something up, and the backlash makes a little bit of blood pool in my mouth, but I quickly mend the wound before it even becomes noticeable.
Except, of course, that Richard notices. She looks at me, four of her six eyes turned to see me, the other two focused on the soup, and gives a sad smile. Then, with a shake of her head, she gets back to cooking, saying nothing. I get it though. She knows the same thing I do.
We have to push ourselves.
- - -
Another day passes with us running, digging, fighting, and running again.
The forest, the Green Sea, is ruthless. It’s an endless millstone that fills every minute with battle. Simply surviving here is enough proof to the tower that one deserves a higher superiority level.
[Level Up! 53 > 54]
If I let my guard down, there are even more dangers than visible. Just a few hours ago, I turned my physical suppression up too high, making my body weak in order to train my stats, and ended up with a fungal infection. Spores sprouted inside my lungs, needing me to manifest solid mana to crush them, which caused a horrid feeling of suffocation.
But I still did it.
[Biological Restoration 15 > 16]
I breathe again, more easily this time, as Bile stalks forward further. He sniffs the air, then nods. “We’re close,” he says. “There’ll be an ascension well soon.”
“You can smell those?” Opal asks curiously, sniffing the air themselves, only to end up coughing from some kind of invasive pollen.
Bile shakes his head. “No,” he replies. “I can’t smell them, but scent tells me a lot. Like there having been a gathering of scithians and zoof recently, then having disappeared one by one. No scent of blood either, so probably not caused by the forest.”
“Huh,” the echo knight nodded along. “I see. That’s cool. Part of your tracking skills?”
“Yes,” the minotaur huffed. “Now quiet. Walk forward silently.”
Norman quickly headed to the front of the group, taking point and wreathing us in his stealth aura. Amelie’s puppets spread out further, working as scouts and sentinels, in a network around us. How she can see through them is something I still don’t quite understand - and I don’t think Amelie does either, but it seems to be some part of her epitaph.
Opal moves further up, too, while Richard stays in the middle, with Amelie and me in the back. We’re the least mobile members of the expedition, with the most range. So, we don’t exactly need to stick close. Instead, we fan out.
And our walk through the undergrowth slows. We stalk forward, step by quiet step, making sure that none of us make too much noise through the rustling plants. Some of it may be forgiven via Norman’s aura, but that has a limit, too. So we sneak forward.
Slowly, the trees thin. One by one, the forest opens up, as if we’re climbing out of some great beast’s maw. Above us, the canopy stretches as dense as ever, but the trunks around us lessen. The grasses and undergrowth stop covering the ground, and instead it seems to be… moss? Soft, springy moss.
Amelie’s wheelchair seems to get stuck in it a bit, the spokes sinking into the plantmatter. She clicks her tongue, and I start creating a thin platform for her to roll over instead, made from solidified mana.
[Solidification 16 > 17]
She gives me a small smile, and we move further along. The trees thin out even more, until there’s a clearing. And, grown from pale golden moss, I see the telltale pattern of an ascendancy well on the ground. It shimmers faintly, ready to lead us upwards- “Stop,” I call.
[Intuition 3 > 4]
Slowly, my eyes trail to the canopy. There’s nothing there. I blink. There’s nothing. Nothing at all.
“Why are we stopping?” Norman asks, crouched and worried.
“Give me a second,” I say. I wait. A second passes, then another, and the feeling intensifies. Something about the mana in the air… is off. I can’t put my finger on it. But it’s wrong, and it’s coming closer.
I focus. Something is off, and my senses are the best in the group. I hone in on the sensation, feeling at the mana in the air, looking closely, spreading my own field of [Observation]. And there’s… nothing.
So instead, I take a different approach.
The feeling is coming from my side. My right, and a little behind me. Where my missing arm hangs loosely. A moment passes. My heart beats.
I spin around and stretch out my left hand. There’s nothing, for a moment, then a sharp pain. A thin wire digs into my fingers, cutting to the bone. It shears all the way through, really, but it takes time to get through my skeleton, and by the time it emerges on the other side, I’ve already reconnected my fingertips.
“Spiders!” I yell. “Look for threads!”
And with that, there’s a hiss, and the illusion breaks. Above the ascendancy well, I see a few tangled cocoons, bodies wrapped up in thin threads. Silk strands stretch between the canopy, wrapping up the trees. The spiders are gorged, giant things, hanging down from their perch, fangs dripping with venom.
One crashes down on Opal, who promptly blinks out of the way. I [Select] it, and even as the spider tries to have the skill slip off of it, I redouble my efforts until it latches on. Then, through that, I cast [Suppression], bypassing the resistance, and slowing the thing down entirely.
More flesh sprouts from my fingers, pulling them back into place against my hand. I solidify more mana, a thin glove and a dagger, getting ready for battle…
When my menu rings.
There’s a distress call being fired off. Thatch, apparently, is in life threatening danger. And here these insects are, trying to stop me from getting to him.