Magic Breaker [Enby MC Anti-Mage LitRPG]

There is someone next to me. I can’t see them, but there is, and when I reach out, they move away. 

It’s bizarre. So, I close my eyes. The feeling of their presence grows fainter, a tiny whisper at the back of my mind, yet I’m sure they’re there. I just woke up, and they were watching me. There was the whisper of violence against my neck. I take a deep breath and focus, grasping that sliding distance.

I hone in on it, and instead of letting it slip from my awareness, I grab it with my mind. I notice, I react, I reach out. I stand up with closed eyes and step after the thread. Slowly, almost gently, I try to [Select] it, but my skill slips off.

But that doesn’t matter. I’ve found it - until it shifts and vanishes. A frown spreads on my face, and I focus. I scan the area, and let a curtain of [Suppression] fall like gentle rain. 

Something shifts in it, and I focus, hone in, as [Selection] streaks out, trying to latch on and slipping away. I reach out again, controlling the tether manually, stepping closer. They move through the drizzle of my other ability, faster now. Running? Running. 

Not that they’ll get away. I’m sure Thatch has already found them, but that’s okay. I push aside some random guy, stepping towards that thread, a half dozen instances of [Selection] flickering outward and wrapping around them like a web. They shift, flicker, disappear and step through them.

Again. And again. They dance at the edge of my awareness, and I reach out one more time. Pouring in more mana into suppressing their ability, but they shift, and dodge my ephemeral skill. Again, they vanish, and again, I adjust.

Slowly, I focus. There are means of detecting people, and I walk through them. Disturbance in my [Suppression] works, but there are more. I can feel their mana, too, which doesn’t work. What about footsteps? Silent. Heartbeat? Faint, but there. 

I sharpen my senses, taking another step and reaching out, as they duck under my hand. Something like playful panic plays out. I grab again, grasping nothing but empty air. Annoyed, I focus more.

Everyone around the ascension well is filtered out, until only the thread remains. The faint rhythm of a heart beating… except, then, why are there two? I [Select] the second one, and there is a moment of surprise as the first stops moving. Both of them are in my grip. Instantly, my [Suppression] slams down like a vice.

[Selection 9 > 10]

“Got you,” I whisper, then open my eyes.

[New Skill acquired!]

[Observation 0 > 1]

My hand reaches out to that faint spot in reality where my eyes tell me there’s empty air. But there’s more, I know. [Observation] tells me as much. My hand wraps around a throat, and then, another hand wraps around mine. It’s dry and warm, almost hot to the touch.

“Do not harm this one, human,” a hiy’ht says, blue body slowly fading into view. “Or the hive will fall upon you.”

I squeeze their neck, slowly tilting my head. “Is your hive looking to die?”

At that, a shiver runs through the critter, yet they laugh. “Bahaha! No, no. We are not.”

Another hand closes around mine. Larger, firmer, clawed nails scraping against my skin. “Let go,” another hiy’ht warns me. The one on the floor has six calm, grey eyes, is diminutive in stature, stick thin and limber. The new one is larger, wider, stronger, with fire-red eyes and thick plates of chitin.

I look at the warrior, then the chameleon, and then I turn my head at the illusionist, who kept my [Selection] from finding their rogue. My head spins with murder-math. Can I take the whole hive? Do I wanna try?

Ah, I shouldn’t kill. Slowly, I let go, deciding to be the bigger person. They did also let me earn a new skill. [Observation]. Another piece in my toolkit, probably even overdue. A testament to my growing mana senses.

“Why were you watching me sleep?” I ask.

The grey-eyed one smiles. “My name’s Chameleon!” they say. “You’re strong. So I watch you! Make sure you don’t decide to murder my hive. Otherwise, I slit your throat in your sleep,” they say, cheerily. “And then, you noticed! So, we play fun game of tag. You skilled at tag!”

My anger fades. I step back once more, then nod. “You too,” I say. Then, I turn around and head back to my group, ignoring the warrior and the illusionist, even as Chameleon happily waves after me. 

Instead, I sit down with the others, accepting the breakfast Sylves hands me. I eat it, and it feels more filling than it ought to be. Curiously, I ask her a question. “What’s your class skill called, Sylves?”

She puts a hand on her cheek, smiling, acting flustered. “How forward of you, Snow. Asking a faerie for her secrets…” I roll my eyes, and after a small chuckle, she gives an actual reply. “It’s [Hospitality]. I can choose to enforce the rules, and I wanted to see if I can decide to truly grant, well, hospitality. I can. The food becomes magically more filling. Which stacks with the buffs from Richard’s job. Isn’t it lovely?” 

I nod. “Yeah, it is,” I say calmly. The food tastes better, and I feel the texture adjust to be less upsetting. None of it makes me feel like dying. It’s nice.

“Yeah, it’s lovely, thank you Sylves,” Inu readily agrees. 

The [Fairy] brightens at our praise, throwing Inu a beaming smile, and blowing her a kiss. I smile, just a little, at their antics. We eat the rest of the meal, and then take a moment to dust off. The wulven Dar fought has already headed into the ascension well, and maybe even gone to the next floor.

Looking over at the golden circle, I brush off the crumbs once more and get to my feet. “Alright, everyone. I’ll head up now,” I say. One by one, they get up, and step forwards. 

“Let’s do it,” Thatch says, firming his resolve.

“Finally. I was getting tired of waiting,” Opal yawns, sword on their shoulder.

Inu checks her armor. Sylves floats, hiding her nervousness. Bay rotates through her bombs. Amelie gathers all her puppets. Jess stares at the circle with an icy gaze, Richard inhales the last scraps of food, Dar grins ferally, and Norman slinks to our side. 

Then, with one last nod, we step into the well. The prompt, ever so familiar, appears.

[Ascend?]

The tower asks, and I answer. “Yes.”

[Challenge: Willing Sacrifice. You break, you take, you vow to prevail, but can you give what that entails?]

The world around me shimmers. Everyone else disappears, except me… and Sylves. She floats there, in the air, reading a message I cannot see as mine falls apart into stardust. Slowly, the rippling world reconstitutes itself. Two chairs, and a table in the middle, placed opposite each other.

Sylves looks at me and pales. I look back at her, calm as always. I see her nervousness. Her fear. I [Observe] the way her fingers shake on her remaining arm. The way she clenches them into a fist, and, despite everything, smiles. “Snow,” she says, her voice forcibly calm, a cool breeze brushing over my skin. “Shall we?” she asks, pointing at the table.

I nod, and then pull out the chair. It tries to shift to suit me, to become more comfortable, but I banish that from my mind, letting the system only exist based on assumptions about what I might like, rather than morphing. I do not need to be comfortable.

Sylves sits down. The wind stops holding her afloat, and it feels like a mask is slowly sliding off her face. Not a fake mask, but one that she wants to look like, but that nonetheless takes effort to wear. Floating all the time must be exhausting. 

We wait for half a heartbeat, then a page appears in the middle of the table. Sylves snatches it, scared. She lost her arm in the last ascension well. I know she’s brave, but I also know she’s terrified, deep down. Of losing control. 

Her eyes scan the paper, and she looks at me. A dawning horror. I just wait. Her eyes widen, her pulse quickens. Gently, calmly, I ask. “What does it say?”

She places the paper down and pushes it towards me, but I ignore it, looking at her. Those shaky brown eyes. She swallows. “We must make a sacrifice. An adequate one, deemed such by the tower. One equivalent to what I’ve already lost.” She looks at the missing arm, wriggling the stump.

Then, slowly she turns to me. I see the way she’s scared. Losing an arm must have been hard on her. Almost dying must have been hard on her. I take a deep breath, then lean forward and place a hand on her - intact - shoulder, and she flinches a little.

“Sylves, look at me,” I say, slowly, calmly. She does, tearing her eyes away from my hand with some effort. She looks at me. I smile, gently, as warmly as I can manage, a smile that I’ve practiced a thousand times to put people at ease. “I got this.”

All at once, I see her shoulders slump. “I can’t ask that of you, Snow,” she says, whisper-quiet. 

“You asked nothing,” I said. Slowly, my smile turns genuine. The fun kind. The kind that feels honest. “This is my Hospitality.”

She blinks. Then, gently, quietly, laughs. That same pearl-like, honest laugh that she always does. It’s undignified, and there’s tears running down her cheek, but she laughs.

“‘Sides,” I say. “It’s not like it’s an arm and a leg.”

At that, she laughs more, harder. “You’re an idiot, Snow,” she says, still laughing.

I summon a dagger and cut off my arm.

Blood splatters onto the table. I pick up my fallen arm from the floor, and place it down on the wood. Calmly. Sylves looks. “Close your eyes,” I tell her, and after a moment, she does. The blood pours from my stump and the limb I’ve cut off, and I pour mana into my wound, knitting it closed, slowly but surely.

The tide of crimson stems. It hurts, but that’s okay. The tower asked for a sacrifice, so I let the blood spill. I endure the pain. I don’t even stop smiling. The dagger of mana vanishes, and I reach out to ruffle Sylves’ hair. “Just a couple more moments, and we’ll be up, alright?”

“Alright,” she nods, and the smile stays on her face. “Thank you, Snow.” The morbidity of it all isn’t lost on her, but she’s levitating just a little again. A familiar pattern of safety, one that keeps her going. One that lets her look at my arm and accept it. One that lets her feel the blood pool against the soles of her boots and accept it.

It’s helpful, even if it’s cruel. But that’s fine. Gently, I watch as the blood from my arm turns into light. It envelops Sylves, accepting my sacrifice, deeming it worthy. It accepts my pain, my willingness, my triumph over a cruel trial.

So what if I’ve lost an arm? Growing it back will be good practice to make sure I can get it right on Sylves. More blood. More light. More pain. 

Until, finally, the words grace me.

[Challenge Completed. Ascend.]

The light wraps around me, and I pour mana until my vessel is empty. My shoulder scabs over, the wound closing. The challenge is done. There’s a hint of intuition flaring in my chest.

“Hey, tower? Spend one minor request to tell me who influenced this challenge.”

[Accepted. The Deceptive Manipulator has spent one ascended request to craft this challenge.]

A grin sprouts on my lips. It’s nothing like the gentle smile I had for Sylves. No, this one’s violent, angry. 

They scared my friend. “What was it that my other epitaph offered? An eye for an eye?” Yeah. An arm for an arm. Fear for fear. 

My mind is made up. Another Eye to pluck from the Sky.

Respitia the Pure. The Deceptive Manipulator. Flametouched.

Just you fucking wait. I’m coming for you.

With my mind made, I gently let the anger flow away, and embrace the light. The second floor, after all, beckons. And, outside of all the hate, I’m just really curious what it will be.

Ahhh. I wanna see how it all works.

I’ll scale the tower, and take it all apart. 

With that thought, the light takes me, and I ascend.

- - -

End of Magic Breaker Book 1: Ruthless Calling

Next chapter tmrw as normal