Path of Dragons - A LitRPG Apocalypse (BOOK TWO STUBBING AUGUST 15)

“What is a spell?” asked Tura, hovering over him as he sat on the ground outside her hut.

“It’s an expression of ethera.”

“Close,” she responded. “But so very wrong. The expression is a result of a spell. So, I ask you again – what is a spell?”

Elijah frowned. His tutoring sessions with Tura had been ongoing for more than a year, and in that time, they’d focused on the practical aspects of spellcasting. Specifically, she had taught him how to vary the effects of his spells. Some of them, like Dimensional Leap, featured a hard limit on the effect. In that case, he couldn’t exceed the activation duration. However, he could shorten it considerably – a technique he’d used in his battle with Ydris.

Other spells, like Eternal Plague, were far more forgiving. He could stretch the effect much further than he’d previously thought possible, more than doubling the conjuration rate. One of the more interesting aspects of that spell was that he could exert limited control over the manifested insects. He’d used that ability to help with the pollination of Druhmor, and since then, he’d developed the ability to pick and choose his targets far more effectively.

The only question was control.

Inadvertently, he’d been stretching the limits of the spell. He’d done so with others – like Lightning Domain – though with far less noticeable results.

But as Tura had said, that was just the expression of a spell. The spell was the mechanism by which the effect was conjured.

“The patterns,” he said at last.

She thudded her cane against the ground. “Yes! The patterns!” she exclaimed. “Can you feel them? Do you see them in your mind’s eye?”

Elijah nodded, answering, “Vaguely.”

“Hmm. Good. You are ahead of the curve, then.”

“Am I?”

“Most will never see the true framework of their spells,” she said. “Even fewer will ever understand them. Only deities or transcendents can manipulate them.”

“That’s how you form your own spells,” Elijah guessed.

“Adjust. Even those who can form their own spells will never choose to do so,” she said. “It could cripple their power.”

“How?” Elijah asked. He’d been told that spells, as they were used, tended to become a part of a person’s metaphysical identity, but he still didn’t understand how that was possible.

“Do you think your soul is separate from your spells?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“Bah,” she said, poking him with her cane. “You’re smarter than that, boy.”

“They’re not separate, then?”

“Your spells are you. You are your spells. Do you think you could just grow a new head, eh? No. When you look in the mirror, you expect to see your face. If you do not, you experience a moment of existential dread and dissociation.”

“I might not be the best person to ask that question,” Elijah said. “I’m a shapeshifter, remember?”

“But each form is a reflection of you. It is familiar, even if you have never seen it. The same is true of your spells,” she said. “Or do you think the system just plucks random abilities and offers them to anyone, hmm? No. They are the result of your experience. They are meant to suit you.”

“And the choices?”

“Different aspects of your identity.”

“But you said I could build my own spells. Once I get to deity, at least.”

“You could. But just because you can does not mean you should. Some have managed it without fracturing their power. Those people are geniuses. You are not.”

“Untrue. My parents had me tested when I was a kid, and it came back with a one-forty-two. Certified genius.”

“Bah.”

She hit him again.

“You really need to learn to use your words,” Elijah muttered. “And I just want to point out that there’s no way you know what I was talking about, and you just hit me for nothing.”

“I hit you because you’re deflecting from the conversation.”

Elijah opened his mouth to offer a retort, but then thought better of it. “Fair enough. So, you’re saying I won’t be out there building spells from scratch?”

“That is exactly what I said.”

“But I can adjust them?”

She nodded. “Think of it like guiding your own evolutions. For most, the system will assist. To a degree.”

“What do you mean?”

“So long as you confine your alterations to the appropriate intervals, you will be able to offer your input. Only for the final few will you be on your own. Even then, the system will offer some assistance in the form of putting you in the appropriate mindset. However, I do caution you not to rely too much on that. Many deities have attempted too great of a change, only for the spell to fracture,” she explained. “The system may try to salvage it so that the spell remains usable, but that is a death sentence for the viability of any spell.”

“I see,” Elijah said.

“You do not. A fractured spell may backfire, vaporizing the caster. I have seen a high-deity destroy an entire planet because they mistakenly believed their spell deviation was workable. He never recovered. Until you internalize the consequences, you will not understand the danger.”

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Elijah only nodded.

Tura continued, “But the first step is visualization. Then understanding. And finally, manipulation.”

“Any tips on visualization?” Elijah asked. He’d seen hints, but he knew that what he could currently perceive was like looking at the cover of a book. Through a dirty window. He could make out basic shapes, but the real meaning lay within the pages.

According to Tura, spell structures were composed of millions of filament-thin layers of densely packed shapes, all lurking just beneath his perception of reality. Like an iceberg composed of words written in a language so alien that it would take a lifetime just to form a codex from which he could begin translation. And after that, he needed to decipher meaning.

In short, he had a long way to go before he could even begin to see it all, much less understand it.

“Why are you smiling, boy?”

“I’ve always enjoyed challenges.”

“Bah.” She poked him with her cane. “Continue meditating until nightfall. I assume you wish to watch your friend fight tomorrow?”

Elijah nodded. It had been a week since his fight, and luckily, Kaela was scheduled for the next one. Her opponent was Skahan ak Vael, the white-scaled lackey of Cyran es Caelwyn, who was one of the top sixteen.

The fact that they’d both gotten to that point told Elijah that they were far from pushovers.

From what Elijah could tell, Skahan used a combination of crippling debuffs and impeccable timing with a variety of elemental spells to overcome his opponents. He wasn’t an overwhelming combatant, but he had decisively won every single one of his fights. Some, in humiliating fashion for his opponents.

He’d watched one projection from an early fight where his foe broke down, begging for mercy. She’d fallen to her knees, promising to do whatever it took to keep him from finishing her off.

A depressingly sad act for a serpentor who’d made it through the qualifiers, fighting with distinction and courage along the way. Elijah had heard that she had fled the planet in shame.

Thankfully, Kaela wouldn’t end up like that. She trained even harder than Elijah, and he’d seen the scope of her power. She was a strong mage, and according to the odds, she was favored to emerge victorious. In fact, most seemed to believe that she was destined to fight Cyran for the title of champion.

And Elijah could see why, too.

Her competence was one of the reasons he found her so attractive.

A smack from Tura’s cane jerked him out of his thoughts.

“Ow. What was that for?” he asked.

“Stop daydreaming, boy. Work.”

“Fine.”

Her habit of hitting him with her cane was not a painful one, but it still annoyed him. Which was probably the point, and it was an undeniably effective technique. Not that he was willing to admit as much. Not to himself, and certainly not aloud.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, though he didn’t make much progress when it came to visualizing his spell structures. At one point, he thought a specific section became a little more discernible, but it only lasted for a split second before it faded back into blurry obscurity.

Still, it was progress, and it spurred his efforts along.

When he finished, he headed into Tura’s hut and said, “I smell something good. Stew?”

“Formas soup,” she said. “Sit.”

That was one of the benefits about training with Tura. Like the grandmother she appeared to be, she seemed to take quite a lot of pride in feeding young people. And Elijah most of all, probably because he always vociferously enjoyed her cooking.

Before him, she placed a large bowl carved from a massive bone.

“Don’t skimp on the serving size,” Elijah joked. The thing was more like a serving bowl.

“Bah. Growing dragons need good food.”

With one hand, she grabbed the enormous cauldron that dominated the center of the hut. There was no fire beneath it, but Elijah could feel the heat even from across the room. Tura lifted it with one hand, heedless of the doubtless scalding heat. She carried it across the room then, after setting it down, ladled a heaping portion into Elijah’s bowl.

“You could’ve just filled the bowl first,” he pointed out.

“Bah. I don’t tell you how to turn into an animal, do I?”

“You sometimes do.”

She smacked him with the ladle. “Respect your elders.”

Elijah summoned a rag from his Arcane Loop and cleaned the residual broth from his shoulder. “So unhygienic.”

Then, he grinned.

She just shook her head in disappointment. “Don’t eat. I have something else for you.”

With that, she crossed the room and disappeared through a wall. Elijah stared after her, uncomprehending. To Soul of the Wild, that wall was perfectly solid. But she’d passed through it like it was no more solid than an illusion. A few seconds later, she reappeared carrying a pint-sized mug that had been carved from some animal’s horn. Ethereal vapor wafted from it like steam, twisting into odd shapes before dissipating into the air.

She handed it to him.

“Drink.”

“You know I don’t like tea.”

“Drink, or I’m going to make you regret it.”

Elijah believed she could. So, he wasted no more time before upending the mug. And he almost sputtered when something ice-cold hit his lips. A second later, he forgot all about that as the taste settled onto his tongue.

It tasted a little like an orange creamsicle, but with a more natural flavor that suggested it was made from scratch. The liquid slid down his throat so easily that it almost didn’t feel like he was drinking at all. Then, it settled into his stomach.

“What was –”

Energy swirled in his belly, like a tornado of fire that quickly spread through his entire torso. But instead of burning him, it warmed him. A second later, that warmth turned to ice. And back again. Ten more times, it arced throughout him before finally dissipating.

It left him feeling both woozy, exhausted, and well-rested, with a hint of extreme satisfaction that he couldn’t really place.

“Eat.”

Elijah didn’t have the will to resist.

He dug into the soup like a starving man, and by the time he’d finished the massive portion, he was still hungry. Tura remained nearby, ladling more soup into his bowl. She kept going for ten more servings before she was scraping the bottom of the cauldron.

“Hmm,” she said. “Need more.”

Elijah could only nod. He was so hungry he could scarcely think.

So, it was a good thing that Tura kept a lot of food on hand. Before long, she’d fed him huge haunches of roasted meat, massive loaves of honey-buttered bread, and a subjective ton of potato-like tubers that Elijah particularly enjoyed.

Then, at last, he leaned back, patting his stomach as he said, “I think that’s it. I don’t think I could eat another bite.”

That was when he took a long look around the hut. Cabinets stood wide open, revealing empty shelves. The herbs that were normally hanging from the beams were gone, and the cauldron had been flipped over. It was empty.

“Uh…what happened?” he asked.

Tura looked on with incredulity. For the first time ever, she seemed entirely dumbfounded by Elijah. Bits of flour were smeared on the scaley ridge on one cheek, while the front of her robe bore a wide array of stains.

“You are a constant surprise.”

“I’m so confused. What was that potion you fed me?”

“Exil fruit body cultivation potion,” she answered. “Meant to strengthen your foundations to prepare you for the next step.”

“And the food?”

“The body requires fuel.”

Elijah looked around. “That was a lot of fuel.”

“It was a big job, boy. Bigger than I expected. Perhaps I underestimated the efficacy of your previous cultivation.”

Elijah grinned. “That was almost a compliment.”

“Bah.”

Then, she slapped a small vial onto the table in front of him.

“What’s this?” he asked, already suspecting the answer.

“When you asked me to prepare the fruit, you requested that I save the seeds. There they are. But beware, it is a fruitless endeavor. They require very specific conditions in order to grow properly.”

Elijah shrugged. “It’ll be a learning experience, I guess,” he countered. Then, he pushed himself to his feet before wrapping his arms around Tura’s squat frame. She flinched a little at his touch. “Thank you. I don’t say that enough.”

“You’ve never said it at all.”

“Well, consider this the beginning of me correcting that mistake. Thank you, Auntie Tura.”

“Ugh. Do not call me that. Only the little one has my permission.”

“Fair enough,” Elijah agreed, feeling a warmth inside his chest that had nothing to do with the body cultivation potion.