User blog:AloofComputer/The man who walked alone: Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The calm before the storm

“Have a safe journey, Alatar! And don’t forget the scrolls I ordered!”

“Yes, yes, headmaster” a young man replied to the old mage standing by the road. ''Why the hell does he need me to do his errands? Haven’t I graduated already?!''

 T he young mage pulled the hood over his head and shook the bridle lightly, urging his horse forward. The light morning breeze was not that cold, but for a shut-in mage it would be fairly annoying. His navy blue cape fluttered in the wind, exposing the red robe with gold trimming underneath. All mages that graduated the Magical Academy of Lescatie were given red robes, tailored from the finest silk, along with their first spellbook. His own now rested in his backpack, safely secured on the horse’s saddle. On his brown leather belt hang a small dagger – more likely to be used against apples and parchment, rather than actual defense. A small golden amulet hand by his neck, and the horse’s trotting made it jump around, making the mage to occasionally grasp it to keep it inside his robe. His soft brown leather boots didn’t have spurs, like the knights’ or the messengers’, but he wasn’t in a big hurry; this was another errand the headmaster pushed on him, as usual.

 The journey would take him a couple of days, and he intended to make good use of this time off his duties as a wizard at Lescatie; after all, newly graduated wizards were given the most menial, dull and sometimes just outrageous tasks. He snorted in frustration; being errand-boy was much better that tidying up the city’s library, or cleaning the cauldrons. Now why the heck did they need wizards for that and not use initiates, was something he never understood. The headmaster offered some nonsense about dangerous books and unsteady potion remains, but that was just excuses. He suspected that the real reason was the older mages, and how they wanted to intimidate the younger mages. Show then who’s boss. Such childish thinking.

 Of course, there were exceptions. Even the headmaster seemed to go a bit quiet when that kid spoke. ''What was her name again… Mimil Miltie or something like that. '' He had been chastised many times for forgetting her name, but that was his nature; he didn’t care so much for people. To him, the accomplishments and knowledge was much more important. And that kid certainly had a lot under her belt, much more than most, if not all, of the mages in the city.

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 After a couple of days, searching for the scrolls and the alchemical ingredients he was sent to buy, Alatar finally could look forward to his bed in the Academy and a quiet meal, away from the hustle and bustle of the roadside inns. It was late afternoon, and the shadows grew longer by the minute. Alatar urged his horse to go a little faster, settling for a brisk pace. The sooner he was done, the sooner he would get his rest…

But something didn’t feel right, as he approached the city. There were no people tending the fields, and the nearby forest seemed oddly quiet. And while the sky behind him was tainted red by the setting sun, the castle towering over Lescatie kept a purple haze over it-

Monster’s mana. He felt it blast in waves, shaking the wheat fields gently, like an ominous wind.

“Is the city under attack?” he muttered.

 His horse was growing restless, and he got off it,tying the bridle to a nearby fence. Horsemanship wasn’t something he was good at, and a restless steed could prove a liability to a mage like him, especially on the battlefield. His heart started beating faster. Something was seriously wrong. Lescatie was the home of many prominent figures, what lust-crazed monster would dare to attack it?

 As he approached the gates cautiously, his hands begun shaking. Taking a deep breath, he tried to compose himself. There were no guards at their posts, and the gate was wide open. His mouth went dry – that was something against the direct orders of the commanders. As he approached ever closer, another wave of demonic energy hit him. He quickly conjured a barrier to shield himself – demonic energy, even when not pushed directly inside a male, could very well turn him into an incubus. He quickened his pace.

However, nothing prepared him for the sight that greeted him past the main gate.

The signs of battle were everywhere – dropped weapons, torn-off armor and clothes, broken equipment and carriages. Yet that wasn’t the most horrifying part. A dozen succubi were straddling atop the men of the garrison. The air was filled with their moans, as well as the groans of the men beneath them. The area was thick with demonic energy and the smell of sweat, semen and vaginal liquids. Most men had succumbed already; they held their partners from behind, ramming their hips upwards, colliding their bodies even harder with wet sounds.

 However, one succubus was without a partner, looking gleefully around the scene, one hand on her left breast, the other between her legs. Her purple eyes locked onto him, and she flashed him a lecherous grin. With a flap of her wings, she dashed towards him. Alatar made a move to draw his dagger; an instinctual reaction to put something between him and the monster that flapped towards him, her blonde hair waving in the wind. However, the succubus proved faster and stronger; he had just drawn the steel blade from its holster when she was upon him.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-style: normal">“Oooooh, what do we have here?” she cooed in a smooth voice. She gripped both his hands with hers; her grip was soft, but incredibly powerful, or so it would seem to his untrained body. The dagger dropped from his hand to the stone pavement with a loud clang. “Don’t be rude now, sweetie. It’s not polite to draw this ugly thing when we’ve just met. Why don’t you show your pretty face?”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-style: normal">Her tail moved dexterously and removed his hood. In the dim light of the torches still burning and the purple glow that covered Lescatie’s sky, his short brown hair, brown eyes and short beard shone lightly. The succubus was delighted. “Oh my, such a cutie, hehehehe… why don’t you tell me your name? I’m Veronica. Why don’t you draw that other dagger you have down there too? We can get better... acquainted that way.” The succubus’ voice was smooth and seductive as they come, and her breath seemed to grow quicker and deeper. Her eyes shone ever so brighter by the second.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">''Don’t look at her eyes. Focus on her forehead. Fool her for a second, gather your mana. Then strike fast and hard.'' A few pieces of advice he got from a friendly knight, as well as the Academy’s frankly lacking battle course, popped in his mind. The barrier was still withholding the bulk of the monster’s mana, but if it came to sexual contact…

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-style: normal">“Oh, the silent treatment? Don’t be shy now” the succubus pouted.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-style: normal">He took a deep breath through his mouth. “Oh wind, come forth, join the light...” he started chanting. The succubus’ eyes widened. She moved her face closer to his, and he could feel his barrier weakening. She was trying to kiss him, to interrupt his spell. Thinking quickly, he did the only thing he could: he headbutted her right in the nose. While not the most noble or warrior-like thing, she was staggered enough to allow him to finish. “obey my command, smite the evil!”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in"> Mana surged to his hands, turning into lightning around his wrists. The succubus’ hands shook, twitching uncontrollably, as she let a strong scream. With tremendous effort, he shook his hands free of her grip. The thunderstruck succubus fell to the ground, still screaming, and curled into the fetal position. Around her, the frantic copulation stopped abruptly, as the other monsters looked up from their victims. He felt his blood freeze. There were too many, even for a squad of trained guards. There was no chance he could take them on in melee, alone. ''Think fast, think fast… fast! The wind rider spell!''

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-style: normal">“Oh wind, come forth...” he started chanting. Furious hissing ensued, as the succubi unmounted their panting partners and took defensive positions. “...wrap my legs in your embrace, carry me in your wings, obey my command!” The incantation was long, but the succubi didn’t know any better. As a stroke of good luck, they thought he was going to hit them with lightning. While this was a tempting idea, he didn’t have the mana necessary for so many opponents. The magical energy coiled around his feet, lifting him a little from the ground. Now it was time he made himself scarce; he had a few seconds before they gave chase.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-style: normal">Turning around, he started running for dear life. His wind-enhanced legs raised a small cloud of dust in each step, propping him forward faster. He saw out of the corner of his eye some of them gather around the still twitching succubus, while a few others gave chase. This was going to be dangerous. His lungs began to protest, as well as his feet. For a person who hadn’t run more than the distance between his room and the classroom, that kind of effort was definitely more than he could handle. Luckily he caught sight of his horse, still safely secured.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-style: normal">He turned around. If the monsters came close and spooked his ride, he would be left stranded, and then it was a matter of time before they got him. He needed to get rid of his pursuers, and fast, before any more came to help. Two succubi were on his heels, their eyes glaring purple, their wings flapping hard. He concentrated and gathered all his mana. This was a risky choice, but his options were few.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-style: normal">“Oh fire, oh wind, join in unison, blaze, rage, destroy, OBEY!” mana started streaming down his hands. His face turned pale and sweaty; this spell required a VERY large amount of concentration and energy. Streaks of mana turned into fire veins, others into wind ones. They started intertwining, reacting and creating a small fire torrent. Control the fire, don’t let it go unhinged, he heard the voice of his instructor as he kept pumping more and more mana into the spell. A vortex is no good here, I need a fireball.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-style: normal">Concentrating intensely, he compressed the flame torrent into a tightly bound sphere and hurled it at the succubi that were charging to him. They moved sideways to avoid collision with the flaming sphere, but it was then that the magic bounds broke, releasing a fiery blast that shook them and knocked them off the air. They fell on the tall grass of a nearby field, screeching profanities. Alatar didn’t wait to see the aftermath; he was sure he had hit their wings. Without their wings, and with their ridiculous high heels, succubi were no match for his horse. Better yet, they would be slow to go back and inform the others. Still feeling the rush of adrenaline, he mounted his horse and turned around to take a last look at the city. Some torches were moving near the gate; it seems that there were going to go after him. He just hoped that they hadn’t released werewolves at him; their tracking abilities were second to none. However, there was a figure that made his blood freeze: a succubus with white winds, and silver hair. She stood among the torches, glowing with an inner light. He had only heard rumors and illustrations of this monster.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-style: normal">“A lilim… gods above, help us.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-style: normal">With that he turned his back to the city and rode as fast as his tired horse could manage.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-style: normal">Alatar galloped for two hours, putting as much distance as he could between him and the fallen city. After the adrenaline rush subsided, a mixture of emotions assaulted him. Terror at the loss of the second biggest city of the human world, bitterness at his own helplessness, regret for not fighting till the bitter end, and then taking down as many as he could… yea right, like he had the courage or stupidity to do that. His mind was conflicted; his reason told him that this was the best he could do, considering his training and experience. He felt something hot running down his face, and realized he was still sweating profusely and also… tears. He stopped his horse and led it off road, to a small clearing near the roadside. There was plenty of grass and a small stream nearby, so he decided to make camp here. The monsters might give chase, he reasoned, but staying on the road would be equally dangerous as venturing too much into the forest. Centaurs and werewolves and other beast monsters would prowl the deep forest after the city’s fall, and flying monsters would spot him on the road easily. He took off the horse’s bridle and tied the saddle to a tree near the river. Leaving the horse to rest, he turned to his own predicament.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-style: normal">He was tired and hungry, with only a few leftovers he was munching along the way to fill his stomach. He was also mentally exhausted; those two spells seemed to be his limit. He cursed his own weakness silently. Even though he was high in his class at the academy, it was mostly because he excelled at the academic and theoretical lessons to a frightening degree, but he was totally hopeless when it came to actually casting spells. His very limited mana reserves was something that troubled him for many years.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">''It’s late. I’d better sleep. God knows I need it.'' He wouldn’t dare light a campfire, so he wrapped himself with his cloak and pulled the hood over his head, and looked on a wide flat rock that would keep the bugs from under him. That seemed a god place to sleep. His hand reached for his dagger, before remembering that it was dropped when the succubus that called herself Veronica had made him drop it when she grabbed his hands. Cursing silently, he looked around for anything that could be used as an emergency weapon, in case he was ambushed. A long stick caught his eye, but he changed his mind, as it was still attached to the tree it was growing on, and he didn’t have anything to cut it, not a tool or a drop of mana. Sensing the increasing fatigue grabbing his body and mind, he lay on the flat rock, using his arm as a pillow, and drifted off to face tonight’s nightmares.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">P.S. Chapter one is out, and more on the way. Criticism is welcome.