Chapter 72: Shadows of Power
Hours after sparking Langston's magic, Robert felt drained, his body and mind worn from battling corrupted beasts and the rift. He wasn't fully ready to hit the ground running after that ordeal. Darkness had fallen, and he craved his cottage, a real bed, undisturbed sleep. His mind wandered, finally free for once. That blood-red lightning from the Warlock's strike at the chaos rift haunted him, so unlike his own. In his mind, it belonged in a sci-fi epic, an evil king blasting thin, vicious bolts that seared body and soul. But red? Lightning was blue, white, maybe purple. Blood red felt unnatural, wrong. What had he infused to make it do that?
On his way to his cottage, he mulled it over and stopped at the training yard's targeting dummies. No one was around, so he called up a sliver of magic to check his lightning's color. He pulled a thread of light mana, warm and steady, and wove fire and air around it. Focusing his senses, he activated his strange left eye, its arcane lens sharpening the intricate dance of his mana. The threads fused into a buzzing electric surge. Pointing at a dummy, he infused his magic with intent to strike, mimicked shooting a gun with his fingers, and murmured, "Pew Pew," his childish side peeking through. His hand glowed, mana surged, and a thick burst of light shot out with a resounding "CRACK!" The air burned, the dummy smoked and spun, and Robert marveled at the rich cyan glow, a bright aqua blue, vivid and pretty.
He watched the smoke trail off the dummy, diffusing into the night. Releasing lightning felt good, immediate, sudden, a flash and a satisfying boom. It was intimidating, like a thunderstorm's roar triggering instincts to seek cover. He replayed the spell in his mind. His hand had focused the threads, golden light, hot orange fire, wispy silver-blue air, fusing into that cyan bolt. It defied the color wheel, but magic did what magic wanted.
Lowering his hand, a thought struck. What if he used a different core? "I haven't learned life yet, but I'd like to soon," he mused. Then it hit him. "I do have light's balance. Dark." Could it be that simple? What would dark mana do?
Moira's voice cut in. "That's a dangerous path, Robert. If you wish to explore it, do so with great care." He should've jumped, but her interruptions were routine now. Just when he thought he was alone, she proved he'd never be. She sighed softly. "Hey you, I think I'm wonderful company." Smiling, Robert replied, "You are, Moira. I could do far worse for a mentor and teacher. But I need to puzzle this out alone. Give me time to think, okay?" Her presence lingered a moment, then faded with a soft, "Rest well."
Alone again, Robert stepped closer to the training field, facing the dummy, now restored by STEVE's enchanted structure. He lifted his hand, focusing his mana to try something new. He recalled hours spent here before, testing combinations of elements with light, fascinated by their interactions. It'd take all night to repeat, and he was tired, but one test wouldn't hurt.
Light mana enhanced everything, purifying and strengthening. It fortified buffs, shields, healing, even attacks, making elements truer, earth walls tougher, ice beams colder and wider-ranging. Light solidified inwardly. But dark? Was it just the opposite? "How cliché," he thought. "But if it's that basic, it fits. Stories of balance, costs, opposites, they're rooted in human memory, in reality."
"Enough theorizing," he muttered, reaching into his mana. He found the spaces between elements, drawing a cord of dark magic. It felt like a serpent. Smooth and slippery, compared to the comforting warmth of light. Then he pulled forth fire, and in his mind's eye he wrapped that darkness in fire. The mana that he felt in his hand using magic sense, felt Hellish. Dark, hot, and felt like it demanded justice. Furrowing his brow, he held back intent, adding air to quicken the black and fiery cord. It felt slow in his mind, but it was happening rather quickly to an outside observer. Then he wrapped air around the fire and darkness, agitating it. Making it move and vibrate quickly. It felt like a serpent coiled and ready to strike. It felt gross. Like he was holding on to something evil by the tail. Robert compressed his lips, aimed his fingergun once more at the target, and pulled the mental trigger.
The three threads fused, and he supplied the intent to attack. A dark power surged from within, the human soul's craving for vengeance, delight in others' pain, buried hatred rushing forth. Startled, Robert panicked and released it. With spiteful emotions fueling it, a thunderous "CRACK!" echoed off the city walls. The western settlement flashed red. A thick, blood-red bolt shot out, just like the Warlock's. Hostile, aggressive, it tore from his finger as if escaping to wreak havoc, not humming like his cyan lightning.
"Red!" he thought as the bolt coiled around the dummy, not fizzling but wrapping it in a sparking web, growing thicker as mana poured out. He felt the dummy's magical defenses resist, then collapse, the bolt piercing through. The dummy smoked, then exploded, flaming straw scattering, leaving a charred stump.
Robert lowered his hand, heart racing, like a kid who'd broken a window. "That was intense!" The power had erupted with his intent to destroy, but this mana agreed with him, rewarding him with pleasure as it struck, urging more. The dark source tempted him, subtle, accepting his desires without judgment. The spite faded, leaving an eerie calm, but whispers of dark mana, almost alive, slithered in his mind, urging another try.
"What would this do to a person?" he wondered, recalling the Warlock's twin strike that had nearly broken him. Light strengthened; dark drained, transferring weakness, making targets suffer. This red bolt wasn't lightning. As he thought for a moment, it came to him. "Of course," he said aloud. "Darkening."
He sensed Moira's giggle from afar, or maybe it was his imagination. This was like the Warlock's power, but not corruptive. Kernal's madness at their first meeting must've come from a glancing blow, or his strength had repelled it. Something darker had polluted the Warlock's bolt, a fury that could twist souls.
Soft footsteps broke his reverie, and he turned to see Lillia jogging from Dagda's Garden. She'd been running through its golden light, where residents grew endless food, fueled by Doras Dagda's sanctum and DAVE's care. She padded up, slipping her hand into his, smiling sweetly. Her angelic face and loyal gaze banished the dark tendrils in his mind. He squeezed her fingers, smiling. "I'm fine, Lilly, and better now you're here. Just experimenting, stumbled on something heavy. Needs thought."
She studied his face, her eyes lingering on his troubled gaze, then nodded, content to cuddle. Taking a deep breath, Robert met her silvery-grey eyes. "I'm headed to bed. You wouldn't want to join me, would you?"
Her eyebrows shot up, a slow, amused smile spreading. She waggled them playfully, suggestively. Robert laughed, his body screaming "YES!" as hormones flushed his face, skin tingling. But his heart won, barely. Caressing her cheek, he smiled adoringly. "Not tonight. I just don't want to be alone. I want to be close to you." The emptiness lingered, a dark refuge in his mana.
Lillia understood. Cupping his cheeks, she kissed him warmly, wrapping her arm around his, doting, as they walked to his cottage. His bed, big enough for five, would hold just two tonight.
Robert gazed at her face as he drifted off. She'd fallen asleep first, breathing softly, safe. He memorized every curve, every freckle, feeling sincere affection, adoration, innocent appreciation. The horrors of recent days fed into the dark refuge in his mana. Tomorrow, he sensed, would shift their world forever.