Fallen Mage Regressor

Mal’s face hit the dirt with a thud.

He pushed back and tried to get back on his knees, only for the vines to wrap around him even tighter. They pulled again, and his chest rubbed deep into the soil.

Damn it!

Rolam darted away from one of the vines and slid back into some sort of fighting stance. He glanced down at the ground, then jumped left. Another dozen vines had burst out of the ground, all blackened and rough, just like the ones around Mal’s neck.

Mal clenched his teeth and channeled a small amount of internal mana into his bracelet. The vines shivered, but refused to respond to Mal’s use of magic.

He narrowed his eyes a little. Nearly none of the green, plant-type mana. Just pure black withering-type.

They don’t have any life at all. Of course I can’t control them, they’re just puppets in the shape of vines. Different from the ones that were in our stomachs back at the farmhouse. Anything that was truly plant life has been minimized or destroyed.

You couldn’t have a conversation with an empty vessel.

Mal thought quickly. He kicked his boots together, and they spun him on the ground in a perfect 360-degree angle. This ripped the vines out of the floor. He took that chance to jump up and get away from the ones that were still in the ground.

However, a few had remained latched onto his arms even after being ripped out. Instead of falling off, they tightened their grips. The tips of his fingers turned white, and pins and needles raced up and down his arm.

Mal forced himself to remain calm. He pulled out his dagger and slashed firmly across the vine.

The red of the Nettleleaf dagger lit up like the stars in the night sky, then the dagger was repelled away with a burst of energy. It rocketed his wrist backward, and he felt something strain from the sudden change in pressure.

He looked back at his arm to see that it had been untouched. The damned vines hadn’t been cut by even the slightest margin.

Mal cursed himself in his mind. Nothing seemed to be working. His toolkit was still limited, and he really didn’t have any idea what he could rely on now.

Mal tried his best to think of how he’d fought similar creatures. He’d fought against necromancers in the past, hadn’t he? What had managed to take them out?

The vines wrapped around his arm even tighter. He suppressed a groan of pain.

Blasts of energy had done the trick. Pure, overwhelming firepower had never failed him in the past. But that obviously wasn’t an option now.

Think, think!

The last time he’d fought a necromancer, the vines had flinched away from something. Not from the beams of energy themselves, but something surrounding the energy.

He sucked in a small breath.

Heat. Of course.

He reached into his satchel, praying that he still had those Fireglove seed pods.

The seeds weren’t fully mature, and obviously didn’t have a large amount of fire-type mana in them. However, even seedlings had a small amount due to needing that initial kickstart.

Mal took one of the batches of seeds and crushed it between his fingers.

Instantly, the pod lit up, the inside blazed alight with a column of fire that reached up above Mal’s head while the outer shell remained unburnt. He shoved the flames under the vines, and a low scream screeched from the plant. It dropped to the ground and withered up even further than it had already.

”It’s weak to fire!” he shouted.

Rolam, who’d been dodging them with careful steps of his feet, glanced over at him and nodded. He pointed his hands at the ground. A bolt of energy, pure unaligned mana, formed in front of him, then launched into the dirt. Vines grew up to meet it, not expecting the blow. The bolt lit up the vines and they shriveled into the ground.

That leaves one last opponent.

Philo had remained still during the fight. His eyes were wide and terrified, but the body hadn’t moved an inch.

He let out a low groan and his feet moved forward, movement stiff and jolted like a marionette. Mal took a step back.

Philo launched forward, hands reached out to pin Mal—

And Mal hesitated.

Philo’s clawed hands wrapped around Mal’s shoulders, and he slammed Mal back into a tree trunk. Philo’s jaw unhinged further and the black vines reached out and stroked Mal’s cheeks.

How embarassing.

After Mal had criticized Holam for a lack of decisiveness, Mal had made the same mistake.

But what was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to kill Philo? That was easy enough. He would be able to take out the monster within in the same move.

And put an end to this.

And that was a great option, except for, you know,

Philo dying.

Something with an immense amount of momentum slammed into Philo from the side and sent him tumbling. Lusia dug her heels into the ground, slowing to a stop in front of Mal, between him and Philo.

Her wrist flicked, and a dagger flashed into her hands.

Her black dress formed a shadowy outline against the trees, sun shining and reflecting off the light of the daggers. She moved her hands into a defensive pose, and a brief flash of light hit the vines inside Philo. Philo’s body jolted back, out of the way of the light.

Mal furrowed his eyebrows.

Why had it retreated purely from light? Could it be that he had been wrong?

”Lusia, flash it with your daggers again.”

Without a single word of acknowledgment, she immediately did as he told her. Her fingers deftly switched the position of her daggers, and light hit the vines again—direct sunlight.

Or at least, that’s what Mal was hoping would happen. Instead, she ended up flashing a tree.

Mal cursed himself. She couldn’t see. She still had the fog surrounding her.

”Move your wrist down,” Mal said.

Lusia did so, but she was a hair too late. Philo had already moved to the left.

Damn it.

They needed the fog out of the way.

”Hey, whatever the hell you are,” he said. ”Your fog is getting in the way. Get it out so we can help you.”

”Mal?” Rolam said. ”What are you doing?”

”Quiet.”

A beat of silence. A bundle of vines came from nowhere and struck Rolam, then Holam sent another bolt of heat and energy at the ground.

[Difficult...]

The voice sounded almost saddened.

”Why? What’s the difference between me and them?”

[You.]

Mal slammed his jaw together. Of course he was the different variable. He had his sensitivity cranked up to the maximum. Of course the others wouldn’t be able to mimic that.

Dammit, dammit, dammit!

He reached for his own Nettleleaf dagger.

”Lusia, keep it off of me, and don’t let it escape. I’ll be the one with the light, you keep me safe.”

”Understood, Master.”

The creature hissed and took a few steps back. Mal angled his Nettleleaf dagger just right, and the light hit the blackened vine directly. It receded deeper inside of Philo’s mouth.

Mal kept the dagger trained on the vine. Philo jumped out of the way. Holam blasted the ground to the side, forcing Philo back into Mal’s range. Philo’s body slouched backward, heading for a free zone—

Rolam snapped his leg into the creature’s back and stopped it cold in its tracks. Mal focused the light onto the blackened vines and it receded even further into Philo’s mouth.

It’s just hiding, damn it!

Mal frantically thought of an answer.

”Philo, your innate magic, flame, remember?!”

Philo’s eyes widened, not with terror, but with realization. His fist clenched, and a red glow emanated from his chest, visible even underneath the layers of skin and scale.

Then, all at once, the monstrosity was vomited out onto the ground.

Mal’s face stiffened.

It was a black, writhing thing, hundreds of tentacles lining a circular core.

Mal yelled at Holam. ”Blast it!”

Holam jolted and pointed his hand down. A bolt of heat formed in front of him—

And then the creature did something Mal hadn’t been expecting.

It stretched.

Withering-type mana blasted out in every direction, covering Mal’s vision with a sea of black. He took a few steps backward, then looked up in horror.

The vine monster had transformed. It had become enormous, at least the size of the trees. No, just a little bit smaller, just underneath the shade. Where the sun met the vines, it visibly smoked and shriveled, but even so, it remained standing.

Mal glanced up at the tips of the vines.

There was a hard outer shell that it had seemingly grown in the past several seconds. No, not a shell—

Scales. It had figured dragon scales. It had somehow managed to steal Philo’s scale design to protect itself from the sun.

Philo hacked on the ground, blood and spit alike dripping from his mouth. He looked up and behind himself and scrambled back toward Mal and the rest of the group.

The writhing mass of roots and vines stretched out toward Mal. He reached into his pocket for more Fireglove, only to find nothing.

Ah, crap.

And then, to Mal’s horror, the vines abruptly pivoted, not going for Mal, but for Rolam.