Earth's Greatest Magus

[Recall]

[You have successfully teleported back to your mark]

The world around Kiran shifted and swirled, colors blurring together as he felt the tug of a powerful force pulling him across space and time. He had invoked a divine spell “Recall,” a secret technique stolen from a space magus long ago. Among the array of skills he possessed, this one was particularly treacherous to master, but invaluable in its utility. It was his salvation, allowing him to traverse vast distances within the planet’s surface, provided he had previously placed the right mark.

As the spell’s effect subsided and his surroundings snapped into focus, Kiran found himself standing within the familiar confines of the Elven Citadel.

“That damn human! I’m going to take his ability and skin him alive!” he seethed, the failure of his recent battle gnawing at him. His eyes blazed with a fury, a mix of humiliation and anger that threatened to consume him. He ached to return to the fight, to right the wrong, to claim victory. But he was alone; the citadel was eerily silent, devoid of any of his kin.

His desire to seek vengeance was not his only concern. His actions carried consequences.

[Spirit force restrained]

[Kieran Duskmire]

[Battle power 395]

[Soul force 337 (253)]

ραndαsnοvεl.cοm [Katra stage 8 – Half moon]

[Law of Shadow – 24%]

[Law of Greed – 10% (1%)]

“Curse it!” he spat, the realization of his folly dawning on him. He had overused his stolen divine skill in too many in too short a time, and his Spirit soul was rebelling against such abuse. It felt like a vise tightening around his soul, a dreadful numbness that spread through his being.

Kieran sat on the Khan’s chair, focusing inward as he began the painstaking process of recovery. The ritual was familiar, a delicate weaving of his will and energy to mend the tears in his spiritual fabric. It was slow work, hours slipping by as he coaxed his spirit back to harmony.

Yet, halfway through his recovery, his senses twitched, alerting him to something amiss. An arrival. A ship. Its massive form hovering above the citadel, casting a shadow that seemed to penetrate the very walls.

“Dammit, they’re here already!” he muttered, his voice a hoarse whisper. 

Due to gravitational anomalies, the ship wavered mid-air for a few moments before ascending once more. Yet, within the Citadel’s grand hall, a spatial portal shimmered to life, disgorging eight dark elves: one clad in a distinguished silver uniform and seven in shadowy attire, each bearing a silver, circular emblem on their sleeves.

The silver-clad elf boomed, “Prisoner Kieran! Step forth!”

Despite his lingering pain, Kieran made his way to the hall. He recognized the silver-clad elf as a warden, but the group accompanying him elicited mixed feelings. These were the Voidstalkers, a covert unit even more enigmatic than the Hashasi assassins. Their sudden appearance puzzled Kieran.

With a measured stride, Kieran approached, his mind racing. He bowed his head and knelt before the warden, his voice calm and respectful. “I am Kieran. I welcome you, Warden, to our citadel.”

“You’ve wreaked havoc here, Kieran. The High Warden is far from pleased. Detail your actions.”

The wardens, despite their ability to remotely monitor all prisoners – be they human or dark elves – relied on direct accounts for a more intimate understanding of events. Though they were aware that Kieran was the sole elven survivor within the citadel, they sought clarity on the sequence of events that led to such an outcome. Kieran took a deep breath, readying himself to narrate his tale.

As Kieran unfurled the tapestry of his recent battles, most of the eyes in the hall seemed disinterested. The ornate walls echoed his words, but the Voidstalkers, draped in their dark uniforms, appeared almost indifferent. 

However, a change occurred when Kieran touched upon a seemingly inconsequential detail – a young halfblood human he had encountered. Like a gust of wind rustling leaves, a palpable shift in attention moved through the Voidstalkers. Their lethargic demeanor vanished, replaced by sharp attention.

Before Kieran could delve deeper into his narrative, one of the cloaked figures, his voice dripping with impatience, cut him off. “Enough of this! Tell us about the halfblood. Where is he now?”

Kieran shot a glance at the warden, expecting a reprimand for the interruption. But the warden’s face remained impassive, a statue carved from marble, giving away nothing. Hesitantly, Kieran recounted his last encounter with the halfblood, speaking of a cave nestled amidst the rugged terrain to the north, a good 300 miles from the citadel.

But before he could even finish, another Voidstalker, seemingly connected to some arcane device, relayed a message, “Leader, the halfblood is located. He’s at the human citadel, a mere 100 miles from here.”

A ripple of urgency surged through the group. The lead dark elf, his cloak fluttering, spun on his heels, ready to mobilize his unit immediately. But a firm voice halted him. “Ezzekiel, stand down! You and your men won’t be leaving until we’ve resolved the matters at hand.”

The named elf, Ezzekiel, whirled back to face the warden, his eyes aflame with an icy fire. His voice, laced with a mix of frustration and arrogance, shot back, “We’ve been tethered here for days! We won’t be delayed any further.” The tension in the room intensified, like a string pulled taut, ready to snap.

Without waiting for further confrontation, he motioned his squad towards a viewing point on the citadel’s wall. The panoramic view unveiled the distant human citadel, its towering spires and ramparts barely visible through the haze. The way Ezzekiel’s eyes narrowed, it was evident he had detected something – or someone.

Suddenly, a whisper-like thought slithered into his consciousness, as though communicated through some unseen arcane channel.

Ezzekiel’s expression shifted from stern to determined. Without wasting another second, he began to chant an incantation. His hands danced through the air, forming intricate patterns as raw magic coalesced around him. A swirling vortex of energy appeared, expanding to reveal a shimmering portal aimed directly at the human citadel’s heart.

Turning to his elite group, the fierce determination in Ezzekiel’s voice was unmistakable. “Enter the gate,” he commanded, “And find him!”

One by one, the dark-cloaked figures stepped into the portal, their forms disappearing into the luminescent void.

x x x x x

Author Note: Ezzekiel is one of the dark elf Emery meet in the Khaos Hub, the one he saw at the forest in his first year of the academy.