Caen cast a few spells to boost his processing speed. He split his mind in four, taking Chasma off his back.

  The walls here were made up of plant matter. Tree ferns with their spores lined the walls. Surface roots, vines, and thorny thickets covered much of the ground. Caen had chosen this location for a specific reason. It was the worst possible place that anyone but a Flora practician could ambush him.

  Which he took to mean that they would have Flora practicians with them.

  Already, he'd caused the ferns at the very top of the walls—thirty feet high—to emit large clouds of spores, which he carefully gathered together in a dense mass overhead.

  Thick vines from the wall behind him looped around his torso, ready to whisk him at a moment’s notice. On the floor in front of him, he began to weave a group of colorful, thorny vines into one singular rope. It was an eye-catching and disturbing sight.

  “Stormsong,” Caen sent to the weapon through their connection, “This would be an excellent time for you to find me worthy.”

  “You seek to unsheathe me?! All I’ve seen so far is average, at best. You have a spark, but nothing more. If you want to be declared worthy, then you must prove yourself worth my while.”

  Caen snorted. “I might need just a little bit of help, then.”

  “Hmph. I suppose I can deign to give you guidance,” the sword replied.

  “That would be… great, but I’ll need your help with something much easier than that.” Caen communicated an image of what he wanted. “I’ll say when.”

  “What could possibly be the purpose of that?”

  “Help me and you’ll see.”

  “Hmph.”

  Across from Caen and off to his left, the wall of dense foliage parted. A tall man in armor made entirely of ice stepped out onto the passage. The emblem of the Faithful Descent faction was carved into his breastplate. Curly black hair framed a strong jawline. Fahptis, Caen's cousin.

  He watched Caen with open disdain as seven other participants fanned out behind him. Seconds after, six more participants came around the bend to Caen’s right, Gebda—another one of Caen’s cousins—leading them. He was a heavily muscled man of average height with light leather armor and a massive sledgehammer. Several of those here had the emblems of various factions on their armor.

  Two portions of Caen’s mind handled spellcasting. The third focused on the present and whatever actions he was taking. The fourth portion of his mind scanned the entire vicinity, taking in his assailants, scanning their soul structures, and looking out for any surprises.

  Two of the assailants held guns, probably enchanted. One other wielded a crossbow, and two others, long bows.

  There was a Dream-guardian present; he was one of the gun wielders. Caen briefly abandoned the vines he was weaving to erect a mental shield.

  One of the presences here suddenly grew very distinct to Caen’s senses. The lengths of colorful vines he’d resumed weaving fell limp, the spell construct collapsed, and the spell imprint fizzled out of his mind. Someone had just interrupted his spell.

  A Dampener.

  Caen held on tightly to his other spell constructs controlling the spores overhead. Who had done that?

  The culprit was a nondescript Flora practician in dark metal armor and a Parthran fragment covering his cuirass. He stood by the still-parted plant wall and smiled viciously.

  Dampeners could interrupt or nullify spells in specific disciplines of magic. This man was clearly skilled because Caen could feel his spell constructs growing unstable.

  “Herb Mask, is it?” Fahptis asked, voice dripping with scorn as he conjured a weapon in his hand. A stream of sparkling blue liquid ran down his arm and solidified into a spectacular long sword. He began walking forward. “Do you realize that the last wielder of Stormsong died? He was an honored member of the greatest faction on the island, and you dishonor the Faithful Descent—”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Caen flickered Soul-sense at the Dampener, interrupting the spells the man was using to affect Caen’s own spells. At the same time, he cast a Gleam spell; it produced light that resembled crackling lightning—a minor illusion. It danced along Stormsong’s sheathed form as Caen reached for the weapon’s hilt.

  “Stormsong, now,” Caen sent to the sword.

  Wind whipped around Caen forcefully, and the hum from the weapon intensified.

  The Dampener’s eyes widened, his smile falling off his face. Everybody else visibly tensed. Even Fahptis, who’d been droning on about honor and destiny, paused mid-ramble.

  Oddly, Caen could feel their fear so distinctly. They thought he was about to draw Stormsong.

  “H-he’s a counter-dampener!” the Dampener shouted just as he leaped backwards through the gap in the plant wall and closed it behind him.

  Several things happened at once.

  Bullets, projectiles, and trajection spells impacted Chasma, which Caen held in front of him. One arrow curved around the shield but pinged off Stormsong. Pounds of densely packed spores crashed down on everyone. It was so dense that it obscured vision. Vines around the two gun wielders snatched their guns, quickly enwrapping their weapons and tangling them in thorny thickets in the wall behind them. While still connected to Stormsong, he flickered Soul-sense at specific participants. His mental shield shattered, but only after weathering a strong mental attack. Caen was whisked backwards by the vines around his torso.

  The wall of thick foliage absorbed him, flowing around his form to completely conceal him. He shielded his mind again, flickering Soul-sense at the only Diviner present.

  Caen ran at preternatural speed, using a Flora spell to carve himself a path through the wall, as hostile spells crashed against its exterior. The speed of Caen’s mental processing far outpaced his spirit, which strained to keep up with all the spells he was casting right now. Stormsong followed behind him.

  “A trick?! You did all that for petty deception?!”

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “Hmph! I am not impressed.”

  A portion of Caen’s mind flickered Soul-sense constantly, interrupting his assailants’ spells before they even formed.

  “He’s in the wall!” the Diviner wheezed above the chaos and incoherent shouting.

  “Where?” Fahptis screamed. “Wait—”

  In the same moment, Caen engaged the tree ferns to produce even more spores, though he didn't guide them this time. He sent vines to arrest the limbs of a few of the practicians and sent smaller plant tendrils to crawl into their orifices.

  There was one other Flora practician in this group. Caen couldn’t have that.

  He felt the weight of a nearby soul suddenly wink out.

  ***

  Soth’s eyes were wide with shock as Stormsong’s hum rose in intensity and lightning crackled along the weapon. But Soth could feel no spike of danger in his gut, which was confusing.

  That came a few seconds later. He looked up and immediately fired at Herb Mask. “Spores!” he shouted in warning, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of spells, screams, and gunfire. Something snatched his enchanted rifle out of his grip.

  Everything grew chaotic in an instant. Herb Mask vanished into the wall behind him. A thick cloud of spores settled around them, irritating Soth’s skin and burning his lungs. He shielded his mouth and nose with an arm, already casting a spell to locate Herb Mask.

  The Weave inverted, and it seemed immediately to his mind as though the interior of the wall was heavy.

  “Wall! He’s in the wall! He—”

  The spell collapsed. Soth cast it again. It collapsed. Soth’s stomach sank, even as he coughed violently, lungs straining. Fuck, fuck, fuck. That’s right, a counter-dampener.

  A Kinesis practician from the Tried and True faction immediately took to the sky in escape, her eyes red and streaming tears as she hacked her lungs out.

  Fahptis was screaming something at her, but Soth was too busy paying attention to his danger sense. Around him, people were hacking or throwing spells in confusion or trying to deal with the spores.

  Wheezing desperately, Soth staggered backwards, then turned and ran. That Flora Dampener had had the right of it.

  ***

  Not even three seconds later, Caen burst out of the wall, its vines parting suddenly. He flickered Soul-sense at a coughing Body-enhancer, as well as the Flora practician behind him. They both held bows, though the Flora practician was Caen’s real target.

  One empowered, Kinesis-assisted swing of Stormsong into the Body-enhancer’s neck caused him to vanish in a pillar of light, the weight of his soul winking out to Caen’s senses.

  The Flora practician started at Caen’s sudden, violent appearance and immediately bowed out, vanishing in a pillar of light before Caen’s next swing reached him.

  With the various portions of his mind working overtime, Caen resumed his Flora attacks as he crossed the open space in an instant; the remaining participants there were too slow to react. A bolt of lightning slammed into the wall he’d just exited.

  The Dream-guardian seemed to be the only one here capable of keeping up with Caen’s processing speed, but flickering Soul-sense at him put him out of the fight.

  Caen reached the next wall, and it swallowed him once more.

  “Don’t tell me you’re running away!” Stormsong scolded.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Caen sent back.

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