The Chronicles of a Scalebound Sage: Wandmaker Vol.2

WM [70] Guilt Slick with Blood

The corrupted mana in the air invoked a very different sensation that made it difficult to move through. The ground was hot and oppressive which somehow mingled simultaneously in the air with the frigid cold. It was a nightmare of boiling and freezing at the same time in a way that would be impossible anywhere else. Yet for Bjorn, the oppressive atmosphere was familiar—hauntingly so. The further they walked, the more a strange sense of déjà vu gripped him.

The frozen heat haze distorted his vision, and soon, the present began to slip away. Voices intermingled with the conversation between Tanisha and Aurelius. Once again, the veil between his current life and a past existence began to thin, and the familiar voices of Tanisha, Fuyumi and Aurelius faded, replaced by echoes from another time.

In a snap of realization the wind roared around him, carrying with it grains of sand that burned like fire and froze like shards of ice. The world was a swirling chaos of destruction. Shouts echoed through the storm, frantic and desperate.

"Isin we need to go back." A voice was nearly drowned out by the storm. "The chaos storm is going to get worse!"

The voice was desperate, barely audible over the howling winds. Isin stood defiant, his frame battered by the storm but unyielding. He was nearly blown off of his feet but instead forced himself forward to the ground. His hand trembled as he pulled out a combat knife, stabbing it into the cracked, boiling ground. With that he whispered a spell weaving aether around himself as he had seen Nuriel do so many times. He spat blood as the corruption in the storm fought against the spell, but he pressed on. The aether coalesced into a shimmering barrier, a solid bubble that shielded him and his comrades from the storm's wrath.

The men looked at him with shock as they marveled at the shield around them. Yet only Martin understood the true price Isin was paying. Here, in this cursed place, aether was not a tool—it was prey. The chaotic energy devoured it hungrily, tearing at its essence like ravenous beasts. It ripped at those that could use it as if they were fed into a grinder. Angels would be drained in mere moments and torn apart if they entered this place.

And Isin? He was no Angel. Yet somehow, he stood.

He knew the shield would threaten to rip the soul from him. He had to concentrate but he wouldn't be denied what they had come here for. He wouldn't be a slave ever again. Martin helped him up to his feet, slinging an arm over his shoulder as Isin barely had the strength to stand on his own. Then, another arm looped under his other side. Isin turned, surprised to find Eliska standing beside him, her face resolute despite the storm's fury.

Her eyes locked onto his, fierce and unyielding. She nodded. "We've got you."

"We-we move." Isin said through the throbbing pain in his head. "We do not have a choice. We can not turn back."

Martin's grip tightened. "Isin, listen to me. Drop the shield. It's killing you. We can make it without it."

"He's right." Eliska added, "Drop the shield—we can push through without it."

Isin shook them off, staggering forward on his own. His eyes burned with an intensity that silenced any further argument. His body screamed in protest, his soul strained under the storm's assault, but his will was unshaken. Isin pointed ahead, pulling himself away as he marched forward.

"No," he growled, his voice low but filled with unshakable conviction. "I will not stop."

Through the pain, through the humiliation, through loss after loss after painful fucking loss he was not going to stop. He would never bow, not to angels, not to storms, not to the chaos that sought to crush him. He would carve a path to freedom with his bare hands if he had to.