236 Lyre: Halved
236 Lyre: Halved
There are more sigils than normal here. Intricate, overlapping patterns; he’d run out of power halfway through disabling them. Hence the kissing. Hence his wide eyes and trembling hands.
Too bad. Stopping isn’t an option.
I could clear this entire labyrinth with a thought, but I could lose my power again if I trigger another restriction. Or worse, a purge protocol.
I flex my fingers, remembering the sensation of my power being halved after the first warning. Like having a limb fall asleep, but throughout my entire being. It makes me want to burn something to the ground just to prove I still can.
But I’ve already taken care of its owner.
His shoulders droop.
Thom retches behind me. He always does.
It’s a grotesque tableau of horror, even after everything we’ve seen. Somehow, this decayed, preserved evidence of torture is worse.
The App doesn’t tend to require much maintenance, which is worrying.
Days of chronic arcana deprivation will do that to a person.
Over the past few days, Thom and the others have absorbed a crash course in sanguimancers and their history with wolf packs. Information they need to fight back, though every drip of knowledge came with a corresponding warning in the App.
Thom stands by the coffin, circling it slowly as he inspects the wards. His earlier flush has already drained away. His use of arcana is becoming more inefficient by the hour; you can only push a mortal body so far.
He needs rest.
Morality is such an inconvenience. Having it, I mean.
LYRE
08:58
1/5
< 236 Lyre: Halved
I expected as much, but it’s still upsetting.
My eyes go dark immediately. The display on my phone cracks beneath my grip, fractures racing across the screen.
“Just wait and see.”
Stepping back, my eyes rove over Thom’s pallid face. His cheeks have a light flush in them now, though his overall skin tone seems to have become several shades paler–as if he’s severely anemic.
He deserves a little praise.
The boy’s looking at me with such a fawning smile, despite the sweat beading his brow and the faint shake in his fingers. He’s pushed himself far past his limits over the past few days.
I’ve already received my second restriction, only hours after the first lifted.
Bodies, though… we do find a lot of those.
There are sigils, different from the defensive wards I’ve had him dismantling. These are elegant and ruthless, written in blood around the coffin; he’s never seen them before, but should be able to feel the death and rot within.
I flex my fingers again, already calculating what punishment will come my way this time. There’s no way it will settle with a simple loss of power. The system gets creative when you repeatedly disobey.
The only saving grace to this place is knowing there was no way to save them, even if I’d blasted my way through this entire labyrinth the first day I arrived. They were dead before I even entered this territory.
The wizard beams as he trots behind me, those two measly words apparently injecting him with an absurd amount of energy. But whatever positivity he’s holding onto disappears as soon as we step into the room beyond.
None of these people survived.
He’s staring at the coffin, his trembling more pronounced now. Forget being a puppy; now he resembles a terrified quail. “Doesn’t it feel strange…?”
Damn it.
08:58
2/5
<
236 Lyre: Halved
It doesn’t even require a pulse of arcana to see what we’ve found.
I smile faintly. “It’s good news,” I say, forcing a light–hearted tone. The poor thing’s on the edge of a breakdown. “Now that we’ve found the control, it’ll make things easier for
us.”
“I’m pretty sure you are.”
Though coming under further magic restriction wouldn’t be ideal…
Finding survivors has become a bit of a rare event.
Perhaps it’s the number.
As he works, I pull my phone from my pocket, swiping my thumb across the display with a frown. The Divinity App is still showing its emergency maintenance screen, oddly ominous after a few glitched plausibility warnings I’ve been receiving.
Poor puppy. He always wants more than he can handle, desperate for even a glance in his direction. It’s enough to make this old lady feel guilty.
“After you,” he says, servile as always.
A puppy, but a dangerous one in his own way, requiring more hands–on care than I generally prefer to give.
The cosmic bureaucracy doesn’t appreciate our meddling; Balance has us on their
radar.
“This is the center room. It’s different from the rest. This is where Isabeau would
recuperate.”
I pat his shoulder as I pass by. “Good job.” 1
It would be easier to walk away and decide that this isn’t my problem. I’ve spent centuries perfecting the art of not giving a shit. But here I am, underground in a sanguimancer’s dream hole, worried about strangers and furious I can’t simply unleash my full power to save them.
“Get back to work, Thom.”
The room is larger than the others we’ve explored, with what looks like a coffin positioned in the center of the floor–empty, of course, though the absence seems
08:59
3/5
<
236 Lyre: Halved
more ominous than if we’d found a body inside.
“Master…” Thom’s taken to calling me that since I began teaching him.
I glance down at my hands, fisting and releasing my fingers a few times. Halving my power seems a little extreme for that bit of information, but at least it was only half.
Thom leans forward, still dazed and yearning for more, despite the kiss being a mere press of our lips.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The cycle of doom–and–gloom thoughts comes to a crashing halt when I feel the last sigil shatter under Thom’s painstaking efforts.
I glance up with a frown. “What is it?”
Bodies line the walls–dozens of them, practically mummified, stacked in layers. It’s far more than in the other rooms we’ve cleared. They’re desiccated husks with hollow eye sockets and mouths frozen in silent screams, ranging in ages from infant to adult.
His hands spasm at my sides, before reluctantly pulling them from my waist. “Not… not full yet.”
I sigh and shove my palm against his face, pushing him back gently. “How do you feel?”
“How?”
But this time, his magic needs were a little too high, his reserves almost running into the negative. He’s a little too foolishly devoted, willingly working himself to the brink of death just to obey my commands.
The App’s current glitched state presents an opportunity. Anything I do now might fly under the radar. If we continue at this snail’s pace–no offense to poor puppy Thom, who’s working himself to exhaustion–there’s even less chance of finding these poor
souls alive…
His dazed eyes brighten, as he always does when I use his name. He’s so innocent it’s off–putting, and I wish for a moment Aaron was here. His irreverent stares and dirty jokes help create a buffer to the young wizard’s devotion, but alas, he’s upstairs dealing with the massive amount of survivors we’ve acquired from this place.
Owen’s having the same problems, including a few glitchy warnings of his own. We’ve
08:59
4/5
< 236 Lyre: Halved
been interfering too much in this region, even when utilizing Thom to do all the dirty
work.
Mocking other deities for playing possum to these damn restrictions is more like me; now, I’m in the same damn boat, playing this game to the letter.
He returns my attention with glazed eyes, his pupils blown and lips still parted. He’s always a little too excited for a kiss transfer, which is why I’d prefer something simpler, like hand–holding.
