The four-hour bell boomed out, its brassy sound heavy and deep, shaking through the marrow of the Verdant Abyss. It was the last hour, the cry of desperation made manifest. Aleric stood there, surrounded by the gnarled roots of an ancient ironwood tree, his crimson eyes aglow with a low, steady light. To him, the forest was no longer a maze, but a network of fading thermal trails, of waning mana signatures.
He shifted, his eyes locking onto the chaotic tremor emanating from the northern ridge. It was the sound of a spirit in distress, a high, wavering whistle that spoke of a bond stretched to its limits. Aleric approached it with the calculating interest of an auditor testing the limits of a volatile variable.
In the center of a small clearing surrounded by jagged shale outcroppings, Malakor was struggling to remain. The Spirit User was pressed back against the stone, his face pale and sweating. Before him, the massive bulk of a Stone-Hide Ravager loomed, its B-Rank status clear in its enormity. Its hide was a mosaic of enchanted granite, shifting with subtle, otherworldly colors. Malakor's wind spirit, a ghostly, bird-like creature, flitted about, unable to manifest any sort of solidity within the Ravager's oppressive mana field.
Aleric settled on a shale ledge, his eyes narrowing as he-sized up the scene. Synchronization decay: 92%. The boy would be crushed in 4.8 seconds, he thought.
Aleric did not draw a weapon. He focused his crimson gaze on the Ravager's imposing form. With a swift inner twist of his core, he launched a concentrated blast of mana through the air, striking the beast with the precision of a needle.
It did not hurt the Ravager, nor did it burn it with fire. It hijacked the creature's vestibular mana pathways. In the midst of its lunge, the Ravager suddenly felt unbalanced. Its granite limbs splayed out as if the ground shifted beneath them at a forty-five-degree angle. For a heartbeat, it stood in complete physical disarray.
Malakor, with eyes wide with excitement, saw the opening and took it. "Now!" he shouted. The wind spirit took shape, a brilliant emerald crescent, charging forward to slice through the Ravager's exposed throat.
The beast crashed to the ground. Malakor collapsed onto his knees, gasping, "Luck... the spirits favored me."
Aleric watched from the darkness, a look of stoic unconcern on his face, though his mind was otherwise. He did not like the black stripes; the boy had his "luck" and would get the balance of the board.
He stood up and walked away, going further into the dark north where the leaves grew thick, engulfing the last of the daylight.
He plunged deeper into the thick undergrowth, halting abruptly, as the ground buckled into a rocky outcrop where a girl stood. She had an aura, a student carrying colors that quivered with fear, violet hues twisting and turning as if she were entangled in her own nerves. Twelve Vile Hounds stood nearby, their fur a pure white, their eyes burning like hot coals, awaiting their chance to pounce.
Her Signal Stone lay a few feet from him, discarded in his haste, a dull glint on the ground.
The problem with the Vile Hounds was that they were unreliable. One miscalculation, one scent drop, could draw the whole pack in, their olfactory mana erupting outwards in minutes.
The lead Vile Hound crouched, ready to attack the girl. Aleric moved instantly, using Short-Range Teleportation to launch himself onto the outcrop, then between the girl and the snapping jaws. He seized the girl, holding her aloft with a grip that was firm, unyielding, moving as fast as he could.
He didn't stop to engage them in combat. He turned to flee. The teleportation spells tore through the space behind him, increasing the distance. A swift glance over his shoulder, with his crimson eyes narrowing, revealed that the Hounds had indeed pursued him, not losing his trail. They had chased him further into the labyrinth of trees until they found a secluded crevice, hidden away behind a thicket of brambles. He gently set the girl down.
"Stay there," he ordered, his voice as cold as shale.
He turned back to face the pursuing Hounds, drawing a hidden knife and striking it into the head of one of them. The metallic flavor of its flesh lingered on his aura. The Hounds focused all their attention on him, their gazes fixed on the lone escapee.
Aleric turned, running in another direction to the natural basin of limestone. He charged through the undergrowth at breakneck speed, using his mana to its limit with ruthless efficiency. He opened his meridians, letting the mana flow behind him like an invisible fog.
He reached the center of the basin, stopping and facing his pursuers. The hounds tumbled over the edge, a white-furred tide.
The air was filled with the crackling energy of refined wizard mana, volatile magic on the verge of combustion.
The lead hound leapt forward. Aleric raised his right hand, and a tiny spark of friction logic appeared at the end of his index finger.
"Ignite," he whispered.
The world went white.
The basin was a pillar of roaring fire, violet-gold in color, and the Vile Hounds were nothing but steam rising off the ground.
Aleric was at the very heart of the flames, untouched.
The flames danced with the wizard's mana, carrying no heat for their master.
Every spot that was touched by the wizard's mana was consumed by fire, and the cloak that surrounded his body was a shield that even fire could not penetrate.
The flames died down, leaving a circle of ash behind. Aleric took a moment to survey his surroundings, his gaze landing on a glinting object in the ash. The black band that was on the hounds' neck was undamaged, his thoughts on thriftiness and craftsmanship. To withstand that heat without even scorching, the material was as efficient as the logic that produced the flames. He knelt down, picking up the black band.
Aleric carefully picked up all of them, adding the massive point haul to his own. He then teleported back to the crevice.