"My lord, I… wasn't prepared to…" Irun struggled, trying to get both words and air out of his lungs. "Prepared to what? Interrupt me? It seems you have some lessons to learn, and I know coming here was ultimately your idea," Ardrin said, increasing the pressure even further.
He's going to crush me flat, Irun thought, his eyes wide as he coughed up blood.
"I still could," the Masked One said, reading his thoughts. "You would have been dead a long time ago if I didn't need you to do one more thing for me," he continued. "I… will do… your bidding," Irun managed to say, his voice wheezing. "You say that as if you have a choice in the matter," Ardrin said, releasing the pressure on Irun. The boy coughed more blood, spitting it out onto the floor as soon as the pressure released. Athar rushed over to him, making sure he was alright.
"I will not ask if you thought that was necessary, my lord, though I do not have any means of healing him," Athar said in an attempt to coerce his master. "It was necessary, Athar," the Masked One replied. "The tenuous balance of power and necessity between myself and the Undergod is now more strained than it had been when you first met him," he continued.
"I did sense something was off, but I didn't know it was that tenuous," Athar replied, pouring a small vial of deathmold into Irun's mouth. The Masked One sighed, shaking his head. "It has gotten worse since I delivered the Gwynnleaf to him, though, for now, it's nothing I can't handle," he said solemnly.
I know he will deem me obsolete once the final part of his plan comes to fruition. Who's to say what he will have in mind when that time comes? Ardrin thought, staring off toward the summoning circle.
"My lord, I understand that now might not be the best time to ask, but I have a request to make," Athar began, looking up at him from his kneeling position. "What is it, then?" the Masked One asked, not bothering to look down at him.
"During my training with Irun, I've begun to notice there is some sort of limiter on the amount of mana I can draw. Is there a way to fix that, and if so, can you help me?" Athar asked, his voice more confident than he anticipated. "Hooo? A request for more power?" Ardrin asked, finally turning to look at him.
"Indeed, my lord. I recall you once said that you also constantly search for more power, and so I figured you would be the authoritative figure to help me break through my limiter," Athar said, hoping to appeal to his better nature.
"I did say that, didn't I?" Ardrin asked, directing the question to no one in particular.
"Very well, but first, I need to verify something," he said, approaching the young man. "Do what you must, my lord," Athar said, knowing what was coming and bracing for the sickening feeling about to rise. He towered over Athar, who was kneeling over Irun's now unconscious body, and placed his hand on his head.
The Masked One drew in dark mana once more and condensed it in his hand, pouring it into Athar's body as he searched through his core. Within a few seconds, the Masked One removed his hand, flicked his head to the side like a bug had just flown in front of it. "I can't bring you up much further, it will be too risky," he sighed and shook his head. "What? Why, my lord? Am I not worthy of power? Have I not proven my dedication to obtaining it?" Athar asked, his tone pleading rather than angry.
"You have, and therein lies the problem," Ardrin replied solemnly. "W-wh-what do you mean, my lord?" Athar asked, his voice shaking in confusion and fear. "You have… potential, Athar. More so than I ever did at your age, by any means. However, there is a problem with your core that not even I can repair," Ardrin said, removing his hand and turning away. "A problem not even you can fix? How is that even possible?" the young man asked, his face contorting in confusion.
"I cannot say everything right now, as that tenuous balance I spoke of earlier would be completely obliterated if he were to find out about this issue. Nevertheless, bringing you up any further than I am about to would pose too great a risk, one that neither you nor I can afford to face," Ardrin said, his tone serious but gentler than Athar had expected.
"I… I see, my lord," he said, his eyes darting back and forth trying to piece information together. "But, I will still help you reach your next limit, anyway. I believe you have enough control over your mana to not lose yourself entirely because of it," Ardrin said. "Really? You'll help me, my lord?" Athar asked, his eyes regaining some of their lost life.
"I will, but you must understand something before I do this," Ardrin began. "What is it, my lord?" the man asked, sensing his master's tone of caution. "You may begin to hear voices, but do not fret, they will not harm you so long as you keep full control over your mana," Ardrin explained. "Voices? What kind of voices?" Athar asked.
"I would be lying if I said I knew what they would say or try to coerce you to do," the Masked One replied. "Basically, you want me to ignore them and suppress them with mana, my lord?" the man asked. "If you can manage it for the next few months, perhaps I might consider helping you along even further. That would only be if you can prove yourself a capable mage," Ardrin replied.
Athar nodded his agreement. "I understand, my lord. I will do whatever it takes to make this worth your while," he said, bowing from his kneeling position. "I look forward to seeing your progress," Ardrin said, drawing more mana from the Underworld, forcing the quick, dark tendrils to do his bidding. As he stood beneath the dark, lifeless sphere while molding his spell, he noticed a figure off in the distance.
What is that? Can it see me? Ardrin thought, trying to focus mana into his eyes to be able to see more clearly. Just as he did so, the figure, who might have been grinning with malicious intent, vanished.
Damn it, I couldn't get a good look at it, but I think it was… grinning, he thought, shaking his head.
He continued to draw a bit more mana to finish shaping his spell and returned to the Real moments later. Observing the swirling globe of mana in his hand, he spread it out into a complex, geometric pattern, twisting and molding it as it rotated. His spell, now completed, resulted in a strange, hexagonal shape, with multiple offshoots of mana branching off into something akin to a large crack in a frozen pond.
"Stand," he commanded Athar, who responded accordingly. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Once I give this to you, you will need to immediately wrangle your mana back under your control," he said, now staring intently at Athar who swallowed dryly. "I'm ready, my lord," he replied with conviction.
To potentially alter the course of history with one, single spell, Ardrin thought, nearly chuckling at the ridiculousness of it all.
He pushed the geometric spell into Athar's chest. Immediately, dark tendrils of mana began to whip around the summoning chamber, causing the very air to begin to ripple in response. "Control it!" Ardrin shouted over the cacophony of tens of whip-like sounds cracking through the air. Athar's body convulsed and wriggled as it fought against the mana. The lashing of mana tendrils began to subside, when a voice that wasn't Athar's spoke.
"Accretion," the voice said, its tone sounded human, but was far from it. Immediately, the mana ceased to lash out, as Athar stood, with his eyes closed and face plain. "Athar? Are you alright?" Ardrin asked, taking one step closer.
Just as he did, Athar's features contorted into the same, strange grin. His chin was pointed inwardly, as his eyes peered straight ahead with an unnerving smile growing instantly on his face. "Who are you, and what have you done with Athar?" the Masked One asked.
That's the same grin I just saw in the Underworld, he thought.
Athar, or what at least looked like Athar, didn't reply. Instead, only lifted a finger and shook it, never once changing its strange countenance. It had a sort of anxious hunger to its eyes, like it was just waiting for a chance to devour whatever was in front of it. "You son of a…" Ardrin began, but before he could finish his sentence, Athar's face contorted into one of sheer, unadulterated panic as he collapsed unconscious onto the cold, stone floor.
"What, and I couldn't in a thousand years stress this enough, the fuck?" he asked aloud. "Perhaps I can help explain, my lord," Karak's nauseating voice chimed in from the doorway. "In addition, to the explanation, I bring news of Athar and Irun's progress, as well as news from Caegwen," the daemon continued, slowly moving towards the Masked One.
"What news from Caegwen?" Ardrin asked, his curiosity peaked.