Fang and Isgram moved through the forest in silence, following the trail of Smoke.
It wasn't long before they came upon the clearing, and Fang's breath stopped for a moment.
Before them lay a long, open field.
But it was nothing more than a graveyard of steel and bones.
Broken swords, shattered shields, rusting armor, and discarded weapons lay scattered across the land, some half-buried in the earth, others stabbed into old bones. It was an old battlefield, long since abandoned.
But it hadn't been vacated. The smell of decay still lingered in the air, carried by a faint breeze.
Isgram, ever alert, narrowed his eyes. "This doesn't feel right. The death magic here is thick... it's hard to breath here."
Fang nodded, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his dagger as the shadows at the edge of the field seemed to flicker. The atmosphere was heavy, dense, and the souls were felt here. The air lit with the faintest pulse, a pulse that carried significant mana.
This is bad," Isgram muttered, his voice low. "This place reeks of death magic. We shouldn't be here."
Fang didn't answer right away. His attention was drawn to the remnants of the battlefield. A flicker of movement caught his eye.
shadows shifting unnaturally, and then it hit him: a vision, sudden and vivid, like a burst of fire in his mind.
The battlefield stretched out before him, but not as it was now. It was alive with the clash of steel, the cries of soldiers, and the roar of fire and magic. Men clad in armor, faces set in determination.
Fought for their lives against a wave of enemies.
The air was dense with power, and death was abundant. Magic was thrown everywhere, from fireballs to vines pulling soldiers and burying them underground.
In the midst of the chaos, a figure appeared. The vision focused on a tall, imposing warrior whose eyes glowed with dark energy, their armor blackened by the taint of death. And then, as if the vision itself were a message, a voice echoed in Fang's mind.
"Meditate here. Uncover the power within this place. This is an offer from the father of death himself."
Fang's chest tightened as the vision faded, leaving him breathless and stunned.
Isgram noticed the change in him, stepping closer. "What's going on? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Fang took a steadying breath, his eyes flickering to the weapons scattered across the battlefield. He muttered, almost to himself. "The god of death. He was here."
Isgram raised an eyebrow. "God of death? You're telling me that... what, he just spoke to you?"
Fang nodded slowly, still processing the vision. "He wants me to meditate here. Fuck, my head is spinning wait a sec."
Fang dropped to one knee, his vision of the world doing circles.
Isgram supported him with his shoulder, and Fang finally returned to himself.
Isgram's gaze lingered on the scene, his discomfort palpable. "If this place is tied to death magic, it might not be safe. I don't like it. We've got to move out of here, Fang."
But Fang shook his head. "No. I need to do this. I'll stay here and meditate. You take Smoke and head back to the cave. Salvage what you can from the battlefield. There's metal here...
Anything that can be smelted down and used for something else, make sure to take it."
Isgram hesitated, clearly torn. He didn't want to leave Fang alone in a place like this, but he also knew that the choice was Fang's to make. "Fine. But don't get yourself killed. And don't go messing with something you don't understand."
Fang gave him a sharp nod. "I'll be fine. Just make sure Smoke stays out of trouble. He developed a tendency to get in trouble."
With a final glance at the clearing, Isgram turned and led Smoke back toward the cave as he carried a shield that was to be dismantled.
The ethereal rabbit's formed a faint shadow in the distance. Fang, left alone in the stillness of the battlefield, settled himself onto the earth. The weight of the death magic pressed down on him, urging him to close his eyes and focus.
And so, with the weight of Osborne's voice in his mind, Fang began his meditation.
The battlefield he sat upon grew returned to it's usual silence, the cries of war from the vision long gone, replaced by a profound stillness.
It was as if the very land itself remembered the violence that had once torn it apart, the hate and death their hearts housed.
Fang's focus deepened, tuning out the physical world around him. He concentrated on the death magic, feeling its presence in every breath he took. It was suffocating, but also inviting, like a dark embrace promising untold power. He reached for it, pulling it into himself, allowing the old energies to flow through him.
For a long while, nothing changed. But then, something bubbled beneath the surface. A purple miasma spread from the ground to his chest,filling him with an unfamiliar strength. The death magic was working its way into him, not as a curse, but as a bond. The more he focused, the more he felt it settling inside his core, like it was becoming a part of him, something he could control.
A sudden wave of pain shot through him, and he clenched his muscles, holding firm. The vision from earlier reappeared.
This time, more clearly. The battle, the screams, the clash of weapons, and the warrior in the blackened armor. The figure turned toward him, its glowing eyes fixed on Fang, and the voice of Osborne boomed in his mind again.
"The power you seek is not given freely. It will test you, and kill you if you're not careful. But in this place, you will find what you need to change the world."
Fang's heart pounded, his breathing quickening as he struggled to contain the flood of power coursing through him. The death magic was overwhelming, but he couldn't pull away. Not now. Not when he got a taste of such power and pain.
"Meditate. Embrace it. Let it become you."
The ground beneath him trembled, and Fang's eyes snapped open. The battlefield around him had transformed. Everything seemed to glow with the same eerie energy that now overflown in his veins. The death magic had fully enveloped him.
Wisps of magic were squeezed out of every object on that battlefield, every bloodied shield, every organ eviscerated by the cold steel of the swords and spears, down to the ribs of the dead soldiers
Fang extended his senses, his connection to the death magic deepening. Slowly at first, he reached out, pulling at the energy embedded in the broken weapons. The moment his mind latched onto the power contained in the bones of the battlefield, it surged forward.
It spiralled around him.
A deep purple miasma, not gas nor liquid.
Each piece of armor, each twisted sword, became a source of power, feeding him, drawing the death energy into him, funneling it into his body. The more he absorbed, the stronger the sensation became. His heart hammered in his chest as the mana coursed through him, flooding his veins.
The power flowed freely, unstoppable. His eyes glowed faintly with a new purple shade, shadows pooling around him. The more he absorbed, the more he felt the weight of their lives. It was as if the land itself was being drained of its bitterness, its anguish, its despair, and feeding it directly into his being. The magic rolled through his body, now a tangible force that he could mold, control, and command.
Fang rose to his feet.
His breath was steady. His body stronger. His mana pulsing.
No longer depleted easily, no longer scraping the bottom of the chain of food.
It surged.
1,023/1023.
He clenched his fists, feeling the power settle. Not wild. Not chaotic. His.
"This... This is real power. I should meditate from now on daily, and it will be time for experiments soon.
But fuck, I can still feel their pain..
I can only learn to live with it."
He turned his gaze to the horizon.
"I'm ready now."
And with that, he walked back toward the cave.