A damage aura was something Estara feared dealing with. It put her in the precarious position of having no ‘safe’ option, as only being way over-leveled was going to give a caster the means to maintain AoE defense. Wound negations were almost always single-target, and why offensive spellcasters were a terror. Unless, of course, you had expendable subjects. Healing could be turned into AoE, but much less effectively.

  Their white auras weren’t even defensive, she could tell. They were made to overpower what was already weakened by the curse distributed.

  The truth of what was in front of her was that she was almost invariably going to need to go on the offensive — unless she dared to hope for a dispel of the aura. For that, she’d need some kind of boost, though.

  It was all serious enough that she grabbed her mother’s ‘six pull’ of Fate tarot buffs and drew it, hoping for a card to guide her strategy.

  She got an even split, three cards upright, three reversed. She’d be the subject, so she focused on the three buffs as a choice — Three of Cups, Six of Swords, and The Hierophant.

  It technically wasn’t easy between two of them, though Retreat From the Storm was probably out in her current situation. Celebration of Cups would give a huge, continuous edge to everyone, which she could stack with some other group buff. But All Heretics Shall Conform was breathtakingly scary. Whatever spells she could scrounge up to take advantage would be entirely unstoppable. Buffing everyone was usually her move…

  I’m not sure how to stop the aura. ELs might not be enough. I need offense!

  She selected The Hierophant.

  A strange, androgynous voice somewhat like the System rang through her head. “The Hierophant Major Arcana, upright. You are the voice of belief that decides convention. You may re-write it if you take up the proper pen of this authority, and none may overrule you, though the physical realm is often blasphemous.”

  The effect coming over her was striking, as her mind was possessed with something incredibly rigid and unbreakable. Over her forehead was a glowing white brand, which she knew would be two keys in a cross.

  She had little time to marvel, though, as the fight was still on and she needed to act immediately. She was a little behind the other spellcasters thanks to the decision-making necessities… Thankfully, Sleepy had been interrupted prematurely by Bob feinting his way past a guard, slicing through a wound negation, and forcing the wizard to either defend or take a spear to the gut. Wisely, he chose the former and his spell was wasted or delayed.

  Big Nose worries me. And he’d faded deftly away from Seraphiel’s advance, as well as avoiding Dart in a failed pincher, owing to capable fighters clogging the way.

  Estara still needed a group-affecting spell. With will-based, mind-affecting stuff having the advantage of ignoring wound negations, and her with the massive boost, the strategy was clear. Illusion spellcraft, enhanced with Light and Pneuma, gave a mass spell of Level 7 called Ether of Hypnotic Fantasies, having the potential to completely disable the entire group in a stupor, making them sitting ducks. It had zero EL boosts, so it was something discountable against high-level operatives.

  But with this ridiculous buff, it’s on! Take it… F-fuckfaces!

  She started the casting and crossed her mental fingers, putting her hope in those equally crossed iconic keys of the Hierophant.

  Estara tried to keep an eye and mind for what Big Nose was doing. She couldn’t glean exactly what it was, but she thought it was probably defensive-oriented. A buff, which could be good or bad.

  I think I understand the strategy. The aura is up, and he might’ve figured out we have no hard counter. Now, he wants to stall and let the aura do the work of attrition. We’re in a race against a clock…

  Meanwhile, Dirtboy was pushing hard to relieve the critically endangered Sleepy, bowing past one man and then carving up another that barred the way, unleashing a hell storm of overpowering cuts on him. In her mind’s eye, Estara saw the young man’s death clearly, as she was blessed and cursed to see the fates of mortals. Her brothers and sisters. This one was doomed to be decapitated. A Mortal Wound to the throat, right at the EL excess of six. To the throat, that was instant death.

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  No. I can stop it. I have to.

  It was just like the one-time vision of the future, her dividing the man’s lot to be shared with pre-arranged volunteers, though these were distributed further out. All non-fighting members to bear the pain, to bear the burden of those whose lives were on the line and needed every little sliver of a chance. Saints, including women who’d practically begged for the honor. How was she supposed to refuse them? Ideally, it would always be less than a Minor Wound. And not Entropic to begin with. It would simply hurt and heal. No big deal.

  But why is it so hard? I hate myself for it.

  A man who should’ve died took a little nick on his neck, and six others somewhere cried out from sudden pain and injury shared equally. Blood was drawn. But not enough to need more than a bandage, if that.

  It was true that she could’ve traded wholesale with Dirtboy. He needed the judgment. But Estara did not consider him the most dangerous threat, and to utilize [Reapportion Fate] incorporating an unwilling subject was a once-a-day, ‘special target’ thing at her levels.

  Big Nose won’t go down as easily as this idiot. I have to be tactical. Just like Mother would be.

  One Resemblant dropped a brand new armor spell on the vulnerable Follower, reinforcing his defenses and adding wound negations. Meanwhile, the other Resemblant in support cast an AoE curse on the primary cluster of enemies, getting all of the big targets at once with a global EL debuff. Good instincts from the butler crew, as usual.

  The spell of Big Nose dropped, enshrouding him, Sleepy, Dirtboy, and two others in some sort of linked magical buff aura connected with rope-like, glowing strands.

  I have no idea what it is! Great! But now it's time for my spell.

  “Everyone,” she sent as a group command, “Be ready to take advantage of this if it works.”

  Ether of Hypnotic Fantasies blossomed as a streaming torrent of sparkling, magenta gas from her thrust-up staff, quickly filling a massive radius like a storm. To the eyes of her allies, all they saw was some transparent, glittering fog feathering through the area. To her enemies, the world became a new vision of reality as if they were transported into a dream realm. Enemies left and right were caught wide-eyed in sudden rapture and fascination.

  “Mother?!” a man called. “But y-you’re… am I…? It’s… beautiful! I’m in heaven!” He dropped his weapon and laughed with his hands out, looking up at the sky.

  Another man was cackling with a salacious laugh, as he cast down his weapons and attempted to undress, staring downward hungrily.

  Man after man exclaimed this or that amazement, each caught up in their conjured fantasy, oblivious to the world around them. All but the five. Surrounded by that protective aura, they appeared immune. A couple of them were looking around in dismay at what was happening and trying to call warnings. Not the wizards, though. They likely knew it was hopeless.

  Grimacing at the way the whole thing felt, Estara called, “Everyone with a shot, do it! It doesn’t last forever, and they could dispel it.” She didn’t want to spell it out, but it hardly mattered — she’d called for their immediate execution. A Coup de grace on the helpless mercenary bastards, to make her efforts count.

  We have to, to save our own.

  The combatants of the ensorcelled men moved in under their guards freely, cut through any remaining wound negations quickly, and promptly executed them. Men suddenly screamed as they realized a sword was sticking through their chest, or clutched at a ripped-out throat.

  Seven men died bloodily and fell to the hard, dusty street of Geirkos.

  The other five, and no doubt the best of them, were largely surrounded by twice their number, though much of those forces had been busy killing the vulnerable. Nonetheless, Dart, Seraphiel, and Bob had not disengaged from the tougher foes. It looked as if Sleepy was done for as Bob forced his way past a defending shieldman to engage a very incapable wizard. This time, the wizard was not abandoning his spellcasting, either.

  With the hope of really putting the battle away on his shoulders, Bob managed to jam his spear right in Sleepy’s face… and that aura flashed, blocking him from any harm. He did not exactly have an easy time maintaining his concentration even so, stumbling backward slightly, but he managed it.

  Meanwhile, Seraphiel dealt two nasty blows through the guard of a capable shieldman protecting Big Nose, and both caused auras to flash and block it, leaving him unharmed.

  Shit! Were those wound negations, or…?

  Jeeves suddenly popped into her head. “Alfred is observing through mirror access and is casting an analysis spell remotely. Information on the spell will be delivered once available.”

  Nodding grimly, Estara cast it out of her mind and focused on her next spell. There was no way to out-speed Big Nose, sadly, which could be incredibly bad, but it was what it was. She had the drop on Sleepy, at least. Whatever the protective aura was, she decided to test its limits, noting particularly that the force of the spear had pushed him. She began Hand of the Goddess, a flavored Telekinesis spell with some phantom of visibility.

  The damaging aura continued to burn her and her allies, with some of them — including Estara — merely losing their last wound negation. A few cries of misery resounded, though men fought through the pain. She knew their tolerances to be significant, too. The burning must’ve been of enhanced pain, though the wounding was only Minor.

  She felt the beginning lick of it herself. Her skin would burn. It was only going to get worse, and the fight was certainly not over.

  The biggest question remains unanswered: is Big Nose's nose even real?

  Next Chapter...

  It's quite a disturbing analogy.

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