Chapter 47 - Masters

Magic.

Unlike Aura which was based upon the soul and ones understanding of self, and the pursuit of that self to deeper and deeper depths, it did no such thing.

Unlike Holy Power, which was based upon giving the soul away to ones Faith, and the pursuit of honest and sincere faith following the morals of the church, it had no such needs.

Magic worked unlike any other.

A soul searching for the answers to the questions written in the streams and rivers, underneath mountains and in distant clouds.

They did not see the Church, and believe in it blindly, in their pursuit for the truth, they studied it and may be staunch faithful, but they were not priests. They wished to know, not believe.

They did not see the human spirit, and believe that it was always right, that one should follow their every emotion as law. They wished to understand, not feel.

They believed solely, in their own Discipline, seeking to understand the world, and by doing so, ended up gaining the power to manipulate it the more questions they found. The more answers they solved.

Some used this, to pursue a higher place, perhaps as a faithful mage, or a war mongering tyrant. 

Some took to more mellow practices, seeking to heal the wounded, and aid the sick. Whilst some grew a great interest in construction, aiming for that place, as their area of expertise.

In the end, a mages strength, was related to the level of understanding they had of their chosen profession or niche, and the powers they could wield, were directly relevant.

But the world was not such a sickly puppy, that one could easily manage an answer to it's many sicknesses and riddles.

A low rank magician might lift a boulder, having studied the land all their lives. Perhaps burn a village with a fireball, after living in the heat for a long time. Or cast lightning to kill a dozen soldiers all at once, having not understood how to control themselves, or choosing not to.

But one question remained, the first question that ever mage encountered soon after awakening to their Discipline, and only question whose answer, they understand intuitively.

Why couldn't the boulder float forever?

Why didn't the village burn eternally?

Why didn't the lightning end?

Murphy turned his head slightly, his eyes analyzed the surroundings. The wind on his skin was cool and fresh, his robes that should have been fluttering madly, were still, and his hair silky but unshaken.

A simple wind spell, meant to cast a mere breeze, on a hot day, among the weakest spells known, a simple easy to maintain weave held it all together.

It was a simple question on the surface, but one that left a great deal to be discovered. He reminisced of his fellows, all discussing it a long time ago, in a place he couldn't find anymore.

The both finite and infinite nature of mana in this world.

It had puzzled him greatly. The pressure that the world exuded on his weave, when he cast a spell, as if it was wrong, as if spells should not exist, as if it was unnatural enough, that the world itself would put down pressure to break it apart.

Like a sling, magic pulled on the elastic to warp reality for it's means, but the elastic, like the world, was always trying to return to it's natural state, flowing and untaught, a weave was the safety. 

If undone or broken, the elastic would sling shot backwards with equal force that the failed spell had.

And so, like trying to force more water into a container which is already full, there carries that risk, that if the container is stronger, then the water will back no choice but the shoot back out.

Countless mages had tried to freeze that elastic, to remove the backlash entirely, to enter a place where the world could no longer interfere, but alas...

Murphy looked down, at his spell weave, being slowly eaten away.

...No one, not even the Lich King, could break the container that was the world, nor freeze the elastic in place forever, the stronger the spell, the stronger the recoil.

Some even believed, that the recoil of the Lich King's magic, was still recoiling till the current day in places unseen.

That even death, had been disturbed. The cause for the invasions, among the intellectual mages, was that.

But, as he felt the world bearing down the enhanced basic wind spell, he knew he had plenty of time.

He was not such a novice to use a higher tier spell, where a simple one overloaded with mana, would do.

His wind spell was not his concern.

His eyes zeroed in on the pressing issue at hand.

His weave buckled, as it burned like a flag covered in oil.

"...I'm impressed," He felt a tear ripping through his weave, another lock had been broken, with that level of strength, he could simply escape, but he was choosing to completely shatter the magic instead, "Your attempt at stalling time is admirable. But, there carries a backlash for you, as well, Savage." 

His Locking Magic was an ancient spell, not in terms of power, but age, among one of the first spells that were ever created, it was extremely rudimentary, but, it had taken his heart as a young apprentice, and he had improved it tremendously over the decades.

Where it once relied solely on a clashing of power between the mage and it's target, his spell used the crushing pressure of the world itself trying to crush and break the weave, which he placed inside the seal, so the walls of the lock would close in with both his own force, and the worlds.

Effectively giving him twice the force. Yet, this Savage, was not only bearing it, but breaking through.

Naturally, it was not the force of the whole world, but a proportionate amount to the strength of the spell, yet, it was still beyond his expectations.

His aura was consuming the magic within.

It was being burned away by the sheer force of his immense spirit. The manifestations of something, were rising up behind him.

It was about time.

"Dumbar deserved it, was it?" Murphy felt the magic around him growing more wild and uncontrolled.

It was growing more difficult to control the warping reality around.

That savage mage was getting close enough to start interfering.

The simple wind spell spinning around him, had spiraled into a tornado that picked up boulders and shattered them, creating small terminal velocity projectiles, that swiss cheesed anything that got close carelessly, adding it to the carnage.

He idly let go of the control over it. He wouldn't need it anymore.

But before doing so, he made sure to lean it in a way, that it would head towards the direction that savage mage was coming from.

He could either save his precious subordinates, or, he could break through the out of control tornado.

"You wouldn't know what they did, so I forgive you," Murphy looked across the battlefield in the direction of the coming storm of magic, had he chosen to abandon his subordinates?;,"Children. Elderly. Non-combatants. One could say, death was their only way out, considering the alternatives."

The tornado's insides clashed with one another, spiraling into a force that even if he wanted to retake control over, he could not.

It had turned into a true force of nature, doing as it pleased.

The Root Guards would be shredded, if no one interfered.

Murphy's eyes flickered.

How brutal.

"Karlan's soldiers skinned the ugly women. The finer ones, were taken away to be bred before being discarded in mass piles. Those that resisted, were kept alive until broken. Until forced to beg... They made them beg for death, humiliated on their hands and knees. Mothers. Daughters. Sisters. They toyed with them like a child might toy with a wooden horse. Throwing it away once they got bored." 

Murphy clenched his fist, magic began to gather firmly within his palm.

Blood trickled through his fingers, as his eyes emptied out.

He wasn't there, anymore.

"...The men were tied to poles in the streets, to be dried out and die of starvation, forced to watch their families raped and killed, cut up and skewered like animals. Even a crumb of bread, in sympathy, would find you strung off the walls to die a slow death, burned alive by the sun. Every morning, they would pour water, but not give any to drink, to prolong it, did you know? How water burns the flesh?"

Murphy's magic didn't fluctuate at all.

It simply continued to grow. He raised his fist.

"I once met a child, who was trying to make it to Lagos. He had somehow escaped, missing an ear, and with an eye never to open again, but he had made it. He didn't know, his one hope, had already fallen," Murphy began casting a spell, a weave that most wouldn't be able to understand, "He was barely five. He told me of how his sister had protected him. She wasn't even ten. I never found her, no matter how I looked." 

His hand with the weave on it, slowly balled into a fist.

"I do not blame you, for not knowing. But, I will never forgive you, or anyone, who sides with them. The blood of Dumbar will not rest easy in the annals of history, even if that means becoming the enemy of the whole world." 

The Spider would have them in it's hands now.

"You will all suffer, as we have suffered."

It was time to go.

He flipped his fist, his palm side facing down.

"Now suffer."