Mirabel forced me to change into armor, white plates covering my chest, shoulders, arms, and legs.
She also, quite annoyingly, handed me her sword and took mine, then left just as quickly as she'd arrived.
Her actions were telling. She didn't trust me, and, admittedly, that might've been warranted.
I leaned back against a dying tree and let out a sigh as the sky began to darken.
Magic is the act of giving form to mana, shaped through means far beyond my own.
To use mana, I first need to align myself with the spell I wish to cast. Dark Alter isn't a spell, yet it still requires mana.
The problem is that if I were to draw on any other source, physical, spiritual, or mental, I would die instantly.
Mana is the accumulation of all three, refined and filtered into raw energy.
That energy becomes reality, allowing those attuned to it to bend the world as they wish.
Monsters, however, pull mana from the environment.
That's how they cast spells like Blood Tear without suffering its cost. People like me draw it from within, which creates a burden.
[Nicholas's illness turned the act of casting magic into a punishment. Even existing came with a cost.]
My condition made movement a strain, dulled my nerves, and numbed my pain. But it granted one unexpected benefit.
The mana within me was so potent and overwhelming that it granted immunity.
That's why those blood attacks failed to poison me; blood magic is meant to infect, but in my case, external effects were simply erased.
If I had continued my cultivation while younger, my illness likely wouldn't even be as burdensome in the first place.
Smiling faintly, I stood and picked up my sword. Before me lay the corpses of over three hundred monsters, all of them sent to kill me.
Only now did I truly need to use magic.
I walked forward, ignoring the cries of the sky, and hummed a quiet tune.
My destination was the river, then I would turn back. It had to be done before the next dawn. After a bit of rest, I would return again.
To create a constant burden is to create growth. My illness, in its own twisted way, worked like a muscle.
I would strain it until it tore, then build from what remained.
Eventually, it would become a strength, but even in the future, that wasn't fully achieved.
[The future was a matter of fate, or even causality. For Nicholas, it was irrelevant.]
It began to snow. The wet turned to white dust, and soft flakes clung to my skin as I stepped forward.
Within the snowfall, a haze thickened, one that blinded me from all truths and lies.
As my blade rose, I heard it. A rhythm. A song stitched in despair.
I had been waiting for this.
A Black Death.
A creature entirely consumed by the Darkness.
They earn their name for being closest to a full evolution. When that happens, they begin to laugh. Because then, they stop being monsters.
They become humans.
Now it laughed. Its rhythm circled me like a slow curse. My blade trembled in my hand.
Then came the sound of footsteps, screams, and the cry of a child that wasn't there. That was how it lured you in.
And then I saw it.
Eyes white as chalk. Skin black as pitch. A humanoid shape, too smooth, too wrong. Its grin stretched wider than its face should allow.
A song followed, one laced with death. It danced in circles around me, singing as it skipped, laughing like it had just won a game.
This monster was happy.
It had found its first prey of the hour.
[Faced with death made flesh, Nicholas reached for something far beyond instinct. He called it safety.]
I chuckled, wrapping mana around my blade. "Come on. Stop tempting me with such a good time."
It heard my voice, and its grin twisted into something darker. Its hand was at my face before I even had time to think.
Light flared from its eyes.
I bent back, narrowly dodging the beam, then shoved it upwards with my palm. My pupils burned, the afterimage searing into my sight.
Another flash, faster, sharper. I flipped backward, evading the lance of light as it cut the air past my cheek.
Then came another, then two more.
My blade twisted into parries, scattering motes of white fire across the snow. Each strike came before the last had even finished.
"They move faster than light," I muttered, forcing my eyes to keep up. "Faster than light itself… no wonder it feels like I'm tearing my soul apart just to follow."
Each adjustment of my vision was agony, like glass splinters were grinding into my retinas.
My illness made the pain worse, heightening the burn of my own nerves trying to keep pace with impossibility.
The beams shredded past me, left, right, overhead, forcing me to spin, to dive, to contort my body into positions that no sane swordsman would attempt.
Once, I swore I had dodged, only to feel the grazing heat burn across my shoulder. Once, I thought I was struck, only to find I had moved a fraction sooner than instinct.
The monster laughed louder, feeding on my struggle, delighting in the pressure it forced me under.
My blade cut through its flesh, severing shadow and bone, but the wounds knit before the strike even finished. A kick lifted me into the air, and a punch hammered me into the snow.
A pulse of light filled its palm, a white orb swirling like a miniature sun.
When it launched it, the sphere broke reality apart.
My eyes screamed, my veins throbbed, my lungs caught fire. I barely raised my sword, the impact rattling every bone in my arm.
Its hand closed around my neck and hurled me down into the dirt.
And then its mouth opened.
Black light poured forth. A beam brighter than white, sharper than time, faster than all that should exist.
For a moment, I thought everything was over.
Then I forced my mana, ripped open Dark Alter, and stumbled backward just as the beam tore the earth into glass.
The Black Death wagged its finger, mocking me, savoring my defiance.
Blood streamed from my eyes, staining the snow red. Still, I locked my sight to its speed, unwilling to blink, unwilling to lose.
It lunged again. Light flared in its chest, in its palms, in its eyes. Dozens of beams in a storm.
I twisted, rolled, dropped to one knee, leapt skyward.
My body moved like water under pressure, flowing between threads of impossible speed.
Each evasion left a scar across my sight, a line of pain gouged deeper into my nerves.
And still, I laughed. "Faster. Show me faster. Show me what even gods can't look at!"
The laughter of the Black Death joined mine, two insanities harmonizing as light rained from all directions.
At last, I slipped behind it, weaving a bubble of water into being. With a roar, I slammed it into its back and hurled the creature across the plane.
But even then, the beams did not stop. Even then, the laughter echoed.
My vision burned, but I kept looking.
It took an opening, then, stepping backward, it opened its mouth to charge another beam of black light.
Though I had momentarily needed to rest, it was a mistake to take advantage of that without precaution.
With a flick of my wrist, a surge of mana erupted at its side, knocking it slightly off balance.
I dropped to the ground, stood tall, and raised my hand like I was reaching for the stars. Then I clenched it.
Around its heart, a thin stream of water coiled like a serpent, tightening, crushing.
But the creature only laughed. Even as its heart was bound, it released the beam of darkness anyway.
It struck me fully, hurling my body through the air until I crashed beside the river.
In the haze, I began to laugh, right before its foot slammed down onto my neck.
It tilted its head in curiosity.
Then it noticed the river, once clear, had turned pitch black.