Mirabel forced me to change into armor, white plates covering my chest, shoulders, arms, and legs.
She also, quite annoyingly, handed me her sword and took mine before leaving as abruptly as she had arrived.
Her actions were telling. She didn't trust me, and, admittedly, she had every reason not to.
I leaned back against a dying tree and let out a slow sigh as the sky began to darken.
Magic is the act of giving form to mana, shaped through means far beyond my own.
To use mana, I must first align myself with the spell I wish to cast. Dark Alter is not a spell, yet it still demands mana.
The problem is that if I were to draw on any other source, physical, spiritual, or mental, I would die instantly.
Mana is the accumulation of all three, refined and filtered into pure energy.
That energy becomes reality itself, allowing those attuned to it to bend the world to their will.
Monsters, however, draw mana directly from the environment.
That is how they cast spells like Blood Tear without paying its cost. People like me draw it from within, and that creates a burden.
[Nicholas's illness turned the act of casting magic into a punishment. Even existing came with a cost.]
My condition made every movement a strain. It dulled my nerves, numbed my pain, yet granted one unexpected benefit.
The mana within me was so potent and overwhelming that it granted me immunity.
That is why those blood attacks failed to poison me. Blood magic is meant to infect, but in my case, external effects were simply erased.
If I had continued cultivating when I was younger, perhaps this illness would not have become such a curse.
Smiling faintly, I stood and picked up my sword. Before me lay the corpses of over three hundred monsters, all sent to kill me.
Only now did I truly need to use magic.
I walked forward, ignoring the cries of the sky, humming a quiet tune beneath my breath.
My destination was the river, then I would return before the next dawn. After a brief rest, I would come again.
To create a constant burden is to create growth. My illness, in its own twisted way, worked like a muscle.
I would strain it until it tore, then rebuild from what remained.
Eventually, it would become strength, though even in the future, that goal remained distant.
[The future was a matter of fate, or perhaps causality. For Nicholas, it was irrelevant.]
It began to snow. The rain turned to white dust, and soft flakes clung to my skin as I stepped forward.
Within the snowfall, a haze thickened, veiling me from truth and lie alike.
As my blade rose, I heard it, a rhythm, a song stitched in despair.
I had been waiting for this.
A Black Death.
A creature entirely consumed by the Darkness.
They earned their name for being closest to full evolution. When that happens, they begin to laugh. Because then, they stop being monsters.
They become humans.
Now it laughed. Its rhythm circled me like a slow curse. My blade trembled in my grip.
Then came the sound of footsteps, screams, and the cry of a child that wasn't there. That was how it lured you in.
And then I saw it.
Eyes white as chalk. Skin black as pitch. A humanoid shape too smooth, too wrong. Its grin stretched wider than a face should ever allow.
A song followed, laced with death. It danced in circles around me, singing as it skipped, laughing like it had just won a game.
This monster was happy.
It had found its first prey of the hour.
[Faced with death made flesh, Nicholas reached for something far beyond instinct. He called it safety.]
I chuckled, wrapping mana around my blade. "Come on. Stop tempting me with such a good time."
It heard my voice, and its grin twisted into something darker. Its hand was at my face before I even had time to think.
Light flared from its eyes.
I bent back, narrowly dodging the beam, then shoved it upward with my palm. My pupils burned, the afterimage searing into my sight.
Another flash. Faster. Sharper. I flipped backward, evading the lance of light as it carved the air past my cheek.
Then came another, then two more.
My blade twisted into parries, scattering motes of white fire across the snow. Each strike came before the last had even ended.
"They move faster than light," I muttered, forcing my eyes to keep up. "Faster than light itself… no wonder it feels like I'm tearing my soul apart just to follow."
Each adjustment of my vision was agony, as if glass splinters were grinding into my retinas.
My illness magnified the pain, heightening the fire in my nerves as they struggled to match impossibility.
The beams sliced past me, left, right, overhead, forcing me to twist, dive, and contort my body in ways no sane swordsman ever would.
Once, I thought I had dodged, only to feel searing heat graze my shoulder. Once, I thought I was struck, only to find I had moved a fraction sooner than instinct.
The monster laughed louder, feeding on my struggle, delighting in the pressure it forced upon me.
My blade cut through its flesh, severing shadow and bone, but the wounds closed before the strike even finished.
A kick lifted me into the air, and a punch hurled me back into the snow.
A pulse of light gathered in its palm, swirling like a miniature sun.
When it launched it, the sphere broke reality apart.
My eyes screamed, my veins throbbed, my lungs caught fire. I barely raised my sword, the impact rattling every bone in my arm.
Its hand closed around my neck and slammed me into the ground.
Then its mouth opened.
Black light poured forth, brighter than white, sharper than time, faster than all that should exist.
For a moment, I thought everything was over.
Then I forced my mana to erupt, tearing open Dark Alter, and stumbled backward just as the beam turned the earth to glass.
The Black Death wagged its finger, mocking me, savoring my defiance.
Blood streamed from my eyes, staining the snow red. Still, I locked my sight to its speed, unwilling to blink, unwilling to lose.
It lunged again. Light flared in its chest, its palms, its eyes. Dozens of beams in a storm.
I twisted, rolled, dropped to one knee, then leapt skyward.
My body flowed like water under pressure, threading between lines of impossible speed.
Each evasion carved pain into my nerves, a scar of effort across my sight.
And still, I laughed. "Faster. Show me faster. Show me what even gods can't look at!"
The laughter of the Black Death joined mine, two insanities harmonizing as light rained from every direction.
At last, I slipped behind it, weaving a sphere of water from the air. With a roar, I hurled it into its back, slamming the creature across the frozen plain.
But even then, the beams did not stop. Even then, the laughter echoed.
My vision burned, but I refused to look away.
It took an opening, stepping backward to charge another beam of black light.
Though I paused for breath, it was a mistake for it to attack without caution.
With a flick of my wrist, a surge of mana burst at its flank, knocking it slightly off balance.
I dropped to the ground, stood tall, and raised my hand as if reaching for the stars. Then I clenched it.
Around its heart, a thin stream of water coiled like a serpent, tightening, crushing.
But the creature only laughed. Even bound, it unleashed the beam of darkness.
It struck me fully, hurling me through the air until I crashed beside the river.
Through the haze, I began to laugh, until its foot came down on my neck.
It tilted its head in curiosity.
Then it noticed. The river, once clear, had turned pitch black.