2:35PM

Incomplete Duskfire

The famed skill belonging to your father. Let all be reborn in the hellfire of black, and all shall be ashen in your indignation. From unthinkable rage shall you turn into the demon.

Due to your inexperience with using this skill, added with the high concentration costs, failure is likely.

“Slayer System…” Damien began, holding a textbook in his arms, “...show me the [Skill Breakdown] of [Incomplete Duskfire].”

[SKILL BREAKDOWN - INCOMPLETE DUSKFIRE]

Incomplete Duskfire is primarily a Conjuration (see applicable Magick Systems below) Active Skill that is primarily based on a variation of the Element Fire, Demonic Fire. It is determined that this skill has been Inherited (from Duskfire).

Based on the Standardized Conjuration, the skill will expend an estimated 15,000 units of mana.

For the following reasons, this skill is currently at an Incomplete:

1) Your Slayer Rank is too low (predicted minimum: Rank A)

2) Your Magick is too low (predicted minimum: Rank A)

3) Your mana nervous system is underdeveloped

3a) You lack the mana capacity to safely use this skill

3b) You lack the concentration to safely use this skill

3c) Your mana channels lack the strength to safely use this skill

4) Your current equipment is insufficient to mitigate the skill costs

MAGICK SYSTEM(S): Conjuration, Demonic Arts

ACTIVATION SEQUENCE(S): Standard Conjuration Sequence with System Assistance

STANDARDIZED CONJURATION Incomplete Duskfire takes on an Aflame, Spherical Conjuration that is dark in color, taking an average of 30 seconds (at a basic level) to form, manifesting at the Manifestation Point with a 10-foot-radius and can be launched about 15 feet in any direction, instantly combusting upon impact and dealing a high level of Demonic Fire to anything caught in the blast radius, expending an estimated 15,000 units of mana. DATA ON PREVIOUS USES N/A PROFILE SUMMARY The famed skill belonging to your father. Let all be reborn in the hellfire of black, and all shall be ashen in your indignation. From unthinkable rage shall you turn into the demon. Due to your inexperience with using this skill, added with the high concentration costs, failure is likely. (edit)

Damien smirked. The System was incredibly useful when it came to things like these: information-keeping. Everything underlined was interactable. Once you pressed it (or verbally asked the System to investigate), it would show you the definition of an unfamiliar term or expanded, allowing you to go further in-depth about any particular skill.

Like for example, pressing [Incomplete Duskfire] would literally just send you to the profile summary, and you didn’t need to expand on what “Element Fire” was. Some terms were somewhat unfamiliar at first. And some were misleading.

Such as the Standardized Conjuration. The Standardized Conjuration was a designated, baseline conjuration that the System created to use as a comparison point. Whatever metrics it described was practically useless as a good conjuror created conjurations based on the context of the situation, like rolling a flame down a hallway or lifting an earth wall to block a doorway.

Each cast had its own metrics and mana cost, as seen with Data on Previous Uses, where the System analyzed (according to your settings) previous instances and spit the data out—it was similar to a sniper and their D.O.P.E. book, which may have been the inspiration. You’d be able to better scutinize yourself with this information.

Though, the System wasn’t lying when it described that [Incomplete Duskfire] had a large mana cost. Fifteen thousand units was absurdly high. Even if he was an A-Rank, a single use of [Duskfire] would probably make him dead weight for the rest of the fight (if the enemy wasn’t dead from the spell itself). But fifteen thousand wasn’t the standard; it could be much, much lower.

Ultimately, almost everything depended on your Activation Sequence; in other words, the method used to activate the skill. The Standard Conjuration Sequence with System Assistance used mental concentration to form a mental image of the spell and manifest it. With System Assistance, it could essentially do the complicated thinking for you.

If you think “square”, you would have a square—”three!” forms three instances. You’d need to essentially create a sentence of the conjuration’s properties and the System will handle the rest. However, it could only take you so far. Anything complex would meet roadblocks: long casting time, too high mana cost (or too little remaining), or simply too damn absurd to even work.

In cases like [Conjure - Fire] or [Conjure - Mountains], Damien had adequately mastered them to the point where their sequences were Standard Conjuration Sequence with Moderate Independence. Long name, but it meant he didn’t need the System to perform a good majority of things. The rest were either too complex or inaccessible at the moment.

This was the process he’d described to Althea earlier in the day; though, there were other alternative sequences that he purposefully didn’t mention—he didn’t want to confuse the poor girl. For example, there was the Incantation Conjuration Sequence, using incantations instead of concentration, or the Logographic Sequence, literally writing in the air.

It wasn’t limited to just the conjuration magic system but others. Really, all of the magick systems were connected. Performing a sequence of dances, using summons to do the casting, the possibilities were limitless. Sometimes, the skills would change and differ depending on what magic you used and how you used it.

Unfortunately as an E-Rank, Damien had little options to improve himself other than using equipment. Even then, the higher-ranked items required stats that he didn’t have, nor he could gain within a short amount of time.

However…

Damien sighed, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think it’s the time to use that. Not right now,” he muttered to himself.

He had visited Ordo University’s library and plucked out a few books, detailing conjuration magic. Oftentimes he read these books in general, before the disaster, because he had a keen interest in the subject.

In fact, that was his initial plan: pursuing a career in research, non-Systemic—meaning he’d be a normal civilian—specializing in studying the relationships between magick systems. He was on track of entering a Master’s program but as always life had other ideas for him.

Damien frowned and casted the blue screens away. This was the third time when his life had gone off-stream, diverting into a new path. The first was his birth, when he had been officially inducted into the Fayers. He didn’t choose to inherit this blood—it was literally impossible to decide—but he always had a modicum of contempt for his ancestors.

The second was when Dad had forced him to live a civilian life, to abandon his study underneath him, instead choosing to devote his energy on Latham, his pure, innocent little brother. Logically, it was the correct decision given what’d transpired. But this was one of the rare instances where Damien actually felt peeved for once, resentful.

Finally, the third, the Ordo Disaster. Nothing more needs to be said here. All notions of normalcy had been abruptly demolished by actions he couldn’t control and decisions he couldn’t make. This was an awfully good case to wallow in his insignificance and subscribe to toxic nihilism.

“This is the perfect place to study, isn’t it?” asked a man, who’d intruded on Damien’s hideout: back at the northern wall, down a maze of shelves, and tucked into a comfy corner with an uneven table and rolly chair.

Damien rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “It is, but I doubt a busy Guild Master like yourself has time to indulge.”

“Haha.” Archknell dismissively shook his head, peeking a book from a shelf pertaining to eastern-specific magick systems. “I needed a break. In about ten to fifteen minutes, I’m going back to handle my responsibilities.”

“I’m flattered that you wanted to spend those minutes with me.” Damien watched as Archknell picked a sunkissed-colored cover.

Archknell flipped open the book and smiled to himself, showing Damien the contents. “Tibetan spirits. I’ve always found it fascinating how different cultures could give way to different mechanics. It’s a beautiful thing.”

“It makes a man romantic,” replied Damien, leaning back far enough that the chair creaked. “You haven’t answered my question, though.”

“Coincidence is also a beautiful thing.”

Damien remained silent.

Archknell sighed and tucked the book back onto the shelf. “I’d thought to check on you. Your Team Leader is concerned with, well, everyone. I still don’t know why Seraph personally authorized their presence. You all are far beyond the average person, but still…”

“I can understand why Seraph would want me.” Damien shared a knowing expression with him. “But that’s the most I know. She has her secrets. Kosmos too, I guess.”

“Mhm.” Archknell idly searched the shelf.

“Am I that much of a concern?” Damien recalled what Problem had said, that he had to be killed if he posed a threat to humanity.

“We didn’t know—we still don’t know—how the disaster would affect you. There are many things we’re ignorant about when it comes to your sort, and your father prefers to keep secrets.” Archknell chuckled. “We all do. I don’t suppose that you’re willing to divulge that information yourself?”

“We all love our secrets.” Damien couldn’t necessarily fault them for their caution; he could envision a future where the disaster had negatively affected him in some way, and that way would involve the systematic and unjudging massacre of everyone in Ordo University. Regardless of how improbable that might be, it wasn’t nonzero.

Truthfully, he’d do the same: executing a civilian and branding them as a “monster” to excuse an extrajudicial murder. This amount of careful attention could make a man romantic.

“So,” began Damien, “you all feared the harm I could do but none of you thought to let me in on your masterplan? I could be instrumental to whatever schemes you’re devising in the tents.”

“Are you instrumental?” Archknell asked rather straightly, his eyes piercing deeply into him exactly as how a lance would.

If the gaze was any colder, any less human, then Damien’s blood would turn into ice. Wouldn’t be a terrible experience.

“Well…” he trailed.

“Your father did say this once: you’re effectively a normal human with the addition of a few, err, quirks so to speak. Of course, I have no knowledge of them but I can’t imagine they’ll be particularly useful against cosmic entities.”

“I don’t think so. They would be very thunderstruck at how inhuman I am as they tear us from limb-to-limb while cackling about their superiority.”

Archknell managed a small smile, amused, but something was hidden behind his eyes. Been there from the very beginning since he’d imposed himself. Through that mask, a Slayer looked, seeing there was not a man sitting at a table but a monster, no different than any lowly goblin, no different than a mad god. It had presented a danger, so what effort would be needed to dispose of it?

The suspicion was never forgiven, and it wouldn’t be until the night’s end.

It was an exhausting affair, really. Trying to navigate this bloody world, watching what you had to say and how you said it, knowing which words appealed to which sort of people. Flatter the ones who need flattering, appear submissive to those who seek power, be the hand to the low-gotten.

“I don’t envy you,” Damien said with a sympathetic smile, “needing to keep straight a hundred different chores. This environment doesn’t foster any leniency to you either—the opposite really, it’s downright hostile. Even before the incident, considering who you have for a Vice Guild Master.”

Upon mentioning Silverhonor, the Vice Guild Master of Glory Guild, Archknell’s expression softened. He was quite fond of her, like how an uncle would view his niece; though, that was an incredibly ironic comparison to make.

“Have you met Silverhonor before?” asked Archknell, leaning against the shelf. The same mask held on, glittered with a slight smirk.

Damien shook his head. “Never had the pleasure, but I’m sure we’ll establish a fast relationship. But I’ve heard of her. A lot. She’s about as newsworthy as, well, Levin or Firebrand. Controversially, I mean. Except she did little to earn her criticism, both the outside world and internally.”

His words earned a wider smile from the Slayer. “I trust that my guildmates can put aside their differences and follow her command.”

“That’s an awfully innocent wish, no offense to you.” Damien waved his hand, pretending he was some scheming, calculating bastard. “Silverhonor is not in a good position right now, while Mystic is salivating. Already, Silverhonor doesn’t have the respect of her guildmates, so placing her at the reins will lead to internal conflict. With Mystic’s faction steadily gaining members, he has enough sway to commit insubordination and who knows what that’ll lead to.

“She doesn’t have the influence to enforce her decisions, and as soon as Mystic decides to rebel, this could fracture Glory Guild for good.”

Archknell chuckled and nodded, rapping his knuckles against a ledge. “I didn’t know you kept up with guild politics. Let alone with mine.”

“Politically, you made a very careless decision. You might’ve saved Ordo but ruined your guild in the process.”

“That is a sacrifice I would make, for one.” Archknell stepped off of the shelf and sighed, staring more books and ancient tomes. “Mystic has always been an aspirant, but, well, how would I describe him?”

“Reckless?”

“No, determined, unyielding. I think that works. I entered Glory with little intention to lead it, until Laurel had plucked me as the next Guild Master. The responsibility sort of, fell on my lap. But Mystic? He wants my chair, climbing the rungs one-by-one. So when I chose Silverhonor as the next Vice Guild Master, I insulted his work, his time, energy, and his pride.

“No doubt that this is the perfect opportunity to undermine Silverhonor and her efforts, that he would be willing to go this far just to be called ‘Guild Master’ upon the ashes, but I have faith in the one called Lyressa fey Suntear. This is her challenge to overcome.”

“And if you die?”

Archknell smiled. It was genuine. “Then that, too, she has to overcome. I meant it though, Fayer. If I had to sacrifice my guild to save this city, to save the world, then I would do it. All I wish is for my guildmates to live happy, fulfilling lives no matter Glory’s fate. Especially hers.”

“Now I know why Laurel chose you,” Damien said in a slight joking manner. “Your heart is better than mine.”

“I try my best.”

After saying that, Archknell’s head picked up and he opened a screen. Someone had messaged him, so that (finally) meant he needed to return. The two men said their farewells, and the Slayer left. Damien was alone again, in this empty library, huddled into a corner with books all around his workspace.

Archknell had always been a respected man. All of the Guild Masters of the Big Four were, but he was noted to be surprisingly kind despite his moniker as the “Deathweaver”. You had to be amiable in some way, you’d supposed—be respected amongst your peers, be adored by the public.

Damien couldn’t imagine himself as a Guild Master, but he’d enjoy the guild politics.

He sighed, stretching his arms and legs.

Tonight, people will die. Bit of a depressing thought, no? It’d be a shame if anyone from Systemic Works were killed, especially the kind-hearted professors. Damien was rather fond of them.

And his friends? Well, they were freaks just like him. While he wouldn’t say he had passionate feelings for them—like for example, Alexander and Leona—they ought to be cherished and protected.

Damien rolled closer to the table, turning back to his books.

“Well, guess I need to do the best I can to protect them,” he muttered. “It’ll be embarrassing if I die first.”

Later that night, Archknell would give the final update on Operation Scorcher.