CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR

  And, to absolutely no one’s surprise—at least no one who’d faced these illusive buggers and lived to tell the tale—his shotgun spray of talismans promptly whiffed spectacularly. The swarm of wraiths passing harmlessly through talisman and folding fan alike.

  Luckily, Richard had anticipated as much. And so, instead of a wealth of wasted potential going off like a new years fireworks display, it was more like a confetti cannon had misfired into a densely packed crowd. Unpowered talismans, what were effectively slips of paper until he said otherwise, trailing through air and specter alike.

  It was a quirk of these creatures. A trade off, if you will. While their bodies were usually extremely fragile for their given level and grade, their unique constitution allowed them to avoid taking damage entirely by phasing right on through it.

  Pretty darn powerful, in other words, the ability to completely nullify damage. That wasn’t to say it didn’t come with its disadvantages, however. And he wasn’t talking about the almost paranoid levels of risk aversion these creatures always seemed to develop as a matter of course.

  One thing they never thought to mention about phasing abilities? Sure, the enemy couldn’t hit you, but, so long as you continued to revel in your “invulnerability,” you couldn’t hit the enemy either. Richard intended to take full advantage of this.

  Richard’s steps didn’t falter. No, he didn’t even miss a beat. Though a chill did race up and down his spine as he sped through the rushing cascade of inky bodies. He couldn’t help it. It was instinctual. Also it just felt super icky. Would not recommend. Several more swings of his unwieldy folding fan kept the enemy in a state of intangibility. While also, rather conveniently, supplying him with a hefty helping of stepping stones with which to further ascend.

  Richard moved fast. There was a non-zero chance one or more of the things rematerialized whilst inside of him, and that was not something he contemplated lightly. He’d never been on the receiving end necessarily, but, if they were talking yelp reviews? He could say with out a shadow of a doubt that the ratings of such an ignominious death would be less than glowing.

  It took time for the skittish creatures to realize that the slips of paper posed them little actual harm, and by then, it was already too late. The spark of murderous outrage served as ample warning.

  With a thought, he swiftly disassembled his fan into its base components. Paper talismans gathering around him to form a spherical cocoon. Whereupon they spun, churned, blurred. So that, when the swarm descended upon him for real—all nightmarish shadowy claws, talons, and elongated fangs—they were met, not with more charlatanry, but instead with a swirling crimson blizzard radiating waves of aspected destruction.

  Lightning arced, air smoldered, blades of force carved through their ranks like a hot knife through butter.

  Richard burned through a hundred talismans a second. A not insignificant sum, considering he’d only had around five thousand to begin with. And yet…?

  Everywhere he looked, wraiths were made to meet their maker. The eerie hoods were shredded to bits, blasted by lightning, crushed by force, forcefully bisected, or outright eviscerated, when they didn’t simply pop like soap bubbles. Unable to withstand the waves of scorching heat. The only rune that didn’t seem to do much of anything, lesser frost, though it did help to offset the sudden rise in temperature.

  When all was said and done, Richard found himself five hundred talismans poorer, and yet, if the wall of kill notifications was anything to go by, the wraiths had been the ones to get the raw deal out of the exchange. Thousands dead in just a scant few seconds. And, while that was still barely a drop in the bucket, watching the vastly superior force part before him like the Red Sea was, nevertheless, a uniquely satisfying experience.

  Richard continued to climb ever upward—whirling cocoon flowing back into a set of wings for better aerial maneuverability. A longsword, maybe a quarter the size of the first, materializing in his hand with a rustling of paper. And, while the mass of creatures seemed content to give him a wide birth for now, he knew it wouldn’t last. He gave himself maybe four seconds before they realized he’d run out of talismans before they ran out of guys, whereupon they’d bum rush him en masse and tear him to itty bitty pieces. Which meant he needed to even out the playing field a little.

  Pick on someone your own size, Richard snickered.

  His blade flashed as, with a few casual sweeps, he sent out a number of half hearted force crescents. As expected, they all passed through the wary swarm of shadow wraiths harmlessly. They had long memories, these things, and wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice. Thankfully, he didn’t really need to harm them. Merely put on a show. Project an image worth imitating.

  Paper wings flapping, steps carrying him to greater heights, sword tip licking through the air—arranging death at a distance—he thought he was doing a pretty decent job. Unused talismans trailed after him in his wake. Plucked from his false plumage as if he’d suddenly found himself smack dab in the thick of molting season.

  Already, he could see the more industrious of those present, taking the initiative to alter their appearance to appear more like him. Warping. Condensing. Sprouting wings from diminutive backs, taking on a baby’s physique, and wielding massive swords that practically screamed new age fantasy.

  So far so good.

  Now, all he needed to do was…

  Without further ado, Richard reached for his aura. That intangible presence every living being possessed, whether they knew it or not. What he’d previously believed inscrutable holistic mumbo jumbo, he’d only recently come to realize was, in actuality, nothing more than an extension of willpower.

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  Nothing more than an extension of the soul.

  High nobles labeled this their area of authority. For the laymen, it was simply deemed aura.

  An intangible thing heavily tinged by the deeds of the person involved. The very deeds which gave them their power in the first place. Their potency. Or, conversely, the lack thereof. It served as a fleeting glimpse into the true depths of a person. Their true nature. All the tribulations they’d suffered. The sorrows. The regrets. The victories and the paths chosen. The lengths they’ve gone to. To achieve either greatness, infamy, or something in between.

  Sometimes just that briefest glimpse enough to bring a less experienced individual to their knees.

  The chronicle of a person becomes a force in its own right. Which in turn informs the direction of their story. A self perpetuating cycle whose road leads to archetypal supremacy. Thank you teacher.

  Granted, Richard was still a long way off from that, but, thanks to his Premier G Grade Exemplar passive, he held a significant advantage over others.

  His aura exploded out from him in an invisible wave. Unchecked and uncontrolled, it effectively blasted at full volume. Whereupon it impacted the wary swarm full on in the face—turning their inborn hesitancy, into full blown panic. They ran. Spilling up and around him in a continuous stream. And, once they’d reached a decent enough height, like water pouring down a drain, they converged. Conjoined. Merging into a homogeneous ball of liquid shadow.

  A ball of shadow which promptly changed.

  Slimmed down. Refined its shape. Until it resembled nothing so much as a very familiar torso. Extremities sprouted from those limbless stumps like a xenomorph might through an abdominal wall. Cherubic head shape popping free as if from stubborn turtleneck. Wings and buster blade followed suit quite shortly. And, in no time at all, Richard found himself staring up at an uncanny reflection of himself made entirely of shadow—if standing several stories tall in terms of scale.

  Phew!

  Face contorted by fear and rage, the giant “mega-me,” glared down at him with palpable malice. It let out a silent roar, and, with a flap of its massive wings, plunged earthward at speed. It’s sword held at the ready. Clearly readying for a devastating strike. Not wishing to disappoint, Richard sped up his pace as well. Eager to meet his “I” in the sky, blade for blade. Richard’s wings broke apart into flowing streams of talismans. His sword doing much the same.

  The two rearranging themselves with a rustling of paper, until the broadsword which reformed in his hands was twice the size it had been. Richard planted his foot on the very last in a long string of stepping talismans. The talisman flared to life, and, in the next moment, he was launched headlong. Set on a sure fire collision course with the titan in the sky.

  The cold prickled at his skin. His hair lashed about wildly. Richard forced to squint or be blinded by the wind. The two neared in unison, reeled back in unison, and swung, as if mirror images of one another. Richard’s blade looking like a toothpick when compared to the veritable sky scraper sweeping down from above. Funnily enough, it cast no shadow. Although if it had, Richard, and much of the surrounding area, would’ve been drenched in it.

  Richard slashed upward—sword cleaving crosswise. The outcome of such a clash all but a foregone conclusion. Just before the two blades met, however, Richard’s burst apart into multiple streams. Talismans which swam around the descending blade entirely. Those nearest him forming up into yet another levitating staircase. The titanic blade, meanwhile, whooshed by harmlessly. Taking its sweet time to exit his periphery, despite the speeds it was moving, it was so wide—the wind of its passage lashing his hair and clothes to the side.

  Abruptly, his skin reddened, his veins bulged, and, with his next step, Richard practically blinked across the intervening distance. His split-second burn rocketing him just above the poor imitation’s upturned face.

  Like a trail of ducklings, his talisman’s scrambled after him.

  Caught off balance, neck crooked at an awkward angle, shock was evident in its stolen expression. The swarm of talismans reached him in the next second. Paper slips settling back into sword shape, hilt slapping into his open palms, just as he brought the blade down hard. The imitators expression turned from horrified to gleeful in an instant. Arms suddenly sprouted from the sides of its neck and left eye socket. Each large, muscular, and sporting three identical swords. They converged. Clearly attempting a three way bisection.

  And Richard a sitting duck in open waters.

  Or was he?

  Mid-swing, Richard’s sword broke apart and rearranged itself into what had quickly become quite the nostalgic shape for him. The pseudo-barrel of the talismanic railgun had a perfect topdown view of the enemy’s triumphant expression. The impetus and acceleration talismans, lining the inner barrel like a narrow maw of serrated teeth, suddenly flashed with sanguine light.

  CRACK!

  Something long and fast punched through the creature’s left cheek. Burrowed through its shadowy makeup, like a bullet shot through water. Only, in this case, it didn’t slow due to excessive drag, so much as it simply ran out of bullet. The second it entered the creature, the bonds maintaining the missile’s cohesion promptly vanished. The missile unwinding mid flight just as it’d been designed to. Leaving a trail of explosive talismans behind, which ran all along its length. Talismans which, themselves, soon flashed with sanguine light.

  A muffled explosion followed. The joint wraiths’ stolen form bulged alarmingly. Before it burst apart spectacularly in a rush of shredded remains and torpid survivors. Most left to drift listlessly in a daze.

  Unfortunately, Richard failed to see any of this, as, the second his weapon of mass destruction fired, he’d essentially been flung into the stratosphere by the recoil. Luckily, he managed to fashion a few paper shields in the nick of time to absorb much of the impact—the design taking its inspiration from cardboard, with two sandwiching sheets and a corrugated layer of fluted paper stuck between.

  Still, as his body was sent winging through the clouds—the cold bite of minuscule ice crystals nipping at his skin—the kill notifications he received informed him of as much, if not more.

  Richard grinned.

  How’s that for a show? And for my next trick…

  At this point, if he ignored the constant influx likely streaming from the portal even now, he figured he had to have taken out a good quarter of their number by now, at least.

  It’s still not enough though. If only these things weren’t so darn paranoid I wouldn’t have to go through all this rigamarole. Still, better to err on the side of caution, than waste resources unnecessarily. And speaking of resources…?

  After a quick count, Richard estimated his remaining number of talismans at a little under three thousand.

  Will a thousand be enough? he wondered, bit his lip, before deciding on a course of action.

  Err on the side of caution… but make sure it’s the right amount of sensational.

  Richard mulled over the problem for a few seconds, before he let out a breath, gathered his talismans, and began to sculpt.

  Just a little bit longer. Teacher’s gotta finish his papier-maché, then it’ll be you, me, and all the just desserts you can eat.