Discordant Note | TBATE

Chapter 156: The Deepest Doctrine

The Scythe of Sehz-Clar tapped a finger against her chin, scrutinizing me in a way that made goosebumps rise along my skin. "He is sure to know that by threatening one under my protection, he has invited my intervention. This was why I could not outright kill Mardeth myself, despite how much I wished to," she said, a hint of anger entering her tone. "It would have allowed Varadoth an opening toward my operations. An opening toward you, Spellsong. That was why he went out of his way to remind me at the Denoir ball by speaking with you. But now..."

Cylrit looked uncomfortable, his hands tensing behind his back. He seemed to want to protest more, but knew his master well enough to understand when her mind was made up.

Seris tapped a perfect alabaster finger along a nearby table, her expression one of deep thought. "Cylrit, you are to be in charge of operations in Fiachra while I am away," she said without preamble, moving toward the door. "Should anything unforeseen occur during this meeting, you have full authorization to proceed in my absence."

The enigmatic Scythe swept out of the room, clearly intent on her plans.

Cylrit's head slowly, robotically, turned to me as we were left alone in the room. "You've drawn my master into something truly, truly dangerous," he said, his aura flaring with his anger. "Even for her. Do you understand the implications of your actions?"

I ground my teeth, brushing away Cylrit's intent. "I do," I said honestly. I wasn't powerful enough to even compare Seris with Varadoth in terms of strength, but if this confrontation came down to a battle, I was confident I would be able to assist her in any sort of fight. I wouldn't let her plans of rebellion fall because of me.

"You do not," Cylrit countered. "And perhaps you one day shall understand the true danger of your actions here. But you cannot know the depths of plans you may disrupt." He stepped toward me, his metal boots clinking beneath his feet. He loomed, looking down on me with an upturned chin. "Know this, Spellsong: If you leave the Central Cathedral alive and my master does not, I will kill you myself."

Cylrit swept out of the room with those chilling words, leaving my adrenaline pumping and my Acquire Phase barely beneath my skin.

—

I held Brahmos' horn outward, the inverted palette shining as I threaded my lifeforce through the point. Invisible to my eyes but audible to my ears, the thread elongated into a thick phantasmal artery. My telekinetic shroud slowly layered itself over the thread of heartfire, leaving interlocking plates of crystalline mana. Finally, a layer of vibrating sound mana fuzzed through the structure, making my weapon audibly hum.

In preparation for a potential battle with Varadoth, I'd set myself up in one of the Fiachra Ascender's Association's many training rooms.

The blade swooshed as I scored it against the ground, carving a thin cut into the earth. After a moment, I began to shift through my saber forms at speed, envisioning a myriad of opponents as they attacked me.

I imagined an attack skidding off my own as I held my blade in a hanging guard. I stepped forward and out, using the rotation to shift the blade from a hanging parry to a blurring, sideways cut. Another imaginary attacker thrust for me with the point of a spear. I felt myself flow to the side, using a mana-laden hand to divert the point of the weapon. My saber flashed twice: one cut severing the head of the imaginary spear shaft, the next decapitating my foe.

I ducked under a whirling spell, maneuvering myself to the side with a bare application of my telekinetic pulls. I twisted, using the rotation to kick outward at a perceived hunk of stone. My saber flicked out, impaling a foe who had been hidden behind a shield of imagined fire. My sound-layered saber cared not for his pitiful attempt at protection.