The Sevenfold Pact (Worm Warlock Quest)

[Cloudless Night]

-x-

CHAPTER 1

-x-

This is a quest inspired by Graev's Warlock CYOA.

-x-

Seven stars hurtle towards a lonely blue dot nestled in between spiraling gold and silver.

-x-

ABEL

-x-​

A sudden, bone-chilling cold gnawed at his bones, jolting him awake. The stink of the sea assaulted his nose, and the gentle rocking beneath him - so unlike the stability of his own bed - made it clear long before he opened his eyes that he was no longer home.

Blinking against the harsh afternoon sun, pain lanced through his skull as his eyes were rather suddenly blessed with both brightness and pain. He groaned, rolling over in a futile attempt to shield his eyes and nose from the unpleasantness surrounding him, but it was of no use.

Eventually, he pushed himself to his feet, fingers curling around the rusted metal railing with a crunch. His gaze swept across his surroundings, confirming what his mind had already begun to piece together.

He was hopelessly, helplessly lost.

Decay. That was the first thing that came to mind. Not the rot of dead things - though the stench certainly carried a hint of it - but rather the decay of hope itself.

Massive ships, some as tall as skyscrapers, drifted neglected and abandoned, their hulking forms crumbling within the docks of what had once been a prosperous port city. The sickly iridescent sheen of stagnant water clung to the surface in the few patches not consumed by floating masses of trash and algae.

A colossal sunken container ship lay like a corpse across what appeared to be the only navigable route out of the bay. It explained how things had come to this state, though it did nothing to answer the far more important question - why.

What little of the city was visible beyond the docks consisted mostly of looming warehouses. Their surfaces were covered in bold graffiti and gang iconography, an unsettling testament to whoever now claimed the territory.

He needed to get off this ship. The city held answers, and he had no choice but to find them.

-x-

By the time he finally swam his way to land, he was wet, filthy, and utterly exhausted. When he collapsed onto the docks, the numb horror and uneasiness that had gripped him earlier were almost entirely replaced by disgust. Well, that was one way to knock a person back into clarity, he supposed.

Spitting out something foul, he grimaced, desperate for some way to feel clean. Reaching into the esoteric knowledge now embedded in his mind, he searched for a solution.

He blinked. Then, instinctively, he drew upon the power born of his soul - the very essence that made up the magical simulacrum of biology that was his body. A body he had unconsciously recreated upon being reborn as a being of pure magic.

Mana.

He pulled three motes from the hundred and fifty available to him. Well, technically, he had far more, being a creature literally composed of magic. But therein lay the problem. He was now a being made of mana, and he had no idea how to function as one, let alone survive without the intricate, delicate ecosystem of vital organs that once comprised his human form. Cannibalizing his own mana had risks; there was always the chance he could consume something essential- like his "heart", "lungs" or whatever equivalent he now had and end up killing himself.

He really needed someone to teach him how to do this.

Wait.

His eyes widened as he felt the presence at the back of his mind huff in amusement.

"Took a long time to figure that out, it did. We really need to work on yer situational awareness. Ye have shite instincts."

The voice spoke directly into his thoughts. It sounded... old, like an ancient grandfather idly watching a toddler flail about. There was also a distinct accent - vaguely British, but with an unfamiliar lilt. Some kind of generic fantasy world analogue of it, perhaps?

"Or rather, maybe the pact rewired yer mind to vigil against danger? 'M hardly a danger to ye, so maybe it overlooked me? Well, somethin' to work on, ah suppose."

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Hm, don't remember the pact, do ye? Though I don' blame ye for it—lotsa things get lost in transition during the incarnation, and a memory that recent was hardly old enough to be etched into yer soul. Ah suppose introductions are due then, yeah? Name's 'Flight-through-stars'—or rather, that's the literal translation of it in English, but ye can call me Rocket. I'm your patron as a warlock, teacher in regards to the mystical arts, and adoptive parent to yer new life as an aetherborn. Yes, ye still have yer old ones, but law's different on this side of the cosmos, so ye'll have to live with callin' me daddy."

Like hell he was calling him that.

"So, teacher—"

"Aww."

"Shut it, I ain't calling you shit!" Cough. "Anyway, you were explaining about me being here?"

He took in his surroundings again; the slightly off details, the scattered newspapers that looked far too new to have survived a decade, the vague wrongness of the mana in the air. He couldn't remember how mana had felt back home, having been blind to it at the time, but he was fairly certain this wasn't it.

"I'm in a shitty isekai, aren't I?" he asked.

"Ah am sure there's some context to that that term ah'm lackin', but ye are indeed in a parallel world."

He sighed, only for some of the icky water still clinging to him to drip back into his mouth. He gagged. "Great. Fantastic."

Closing his eyes, he followed the knowledge - no, the imparted memories from his so-called teacher, and constructed a simple spell matrix. One mote of mana to expel everything that wasn't him from his body, another to limit the effect to only his body, and a third to refine the specifics so he didn't, say, purge the air from his lungs or exorcise his gut bacteria via explosive diarrhea. Now that he understood what he was doing, the process was intuitive - almost instantaneous at that, too.

-3 MP [147/150]

With a burst of blue energy, the grime covering his body exploded outward, leaving him squeaky clean—cleaner than he had ever been in his life. He still felt filthy in his soul, though, but that was purely psychological. A proper bath ought to fix that.

"So, teach, what's the situation here? You said something about a pact? How fucked am I?"

"Yer fucked."

Well, that didn't inspire confidence.

"Well, we're all fucked in a way, but yer in ground zero, so ye have aaalll the incentive to unfuck the situation as it were. Thank ye for the service, mate!"

"Oh, fuck you too. At least tell me what the game is, man? What am I up against? A demon lord? Some save-the-world shtick?"

Rocket sighed. His voice, for the first time, truly sounded old. The joviality drained away, replaced by something wistful. Almost... melancholic.

"It really is, isn't it? Just like the old days. Though, I wouldn't call that thing a demon lord. Those would at least find pleasure in the suffering they bring."

He sighed again. "Yeah, I summoned ye into the paths between, offered ye a pact, and let ye loose on this world as per our agreement - though it'll be a long-term assignment, and there's no way back until ye finish the job, as it were. Even if ye planeshift off the planet, the pact will yank ye back if ye're gone for too long."

He grimaced at that. Then, abruptly, frustration began to replace his sinking dread.

"Why do this?" he demanded.

"Because I seek to save mah world."

The words were spoken so softly he almost didn't recognize them as coming from the same person.

The anger faltered. He hadn't expected that.

"Seers on mah world foresaw the end o' times in two centuries or so, as fires of a magnitude greater than anything we ever knew broke through the seams of reality and seared the planet clean. Ah was relieved when it was somehow averted. That hope turned to ash in mah mouth when the time ah had left was cut down to a measly two years, cuz' the seers now tell of a golden star that descends to eradicate us all in deliberate malice instead."

A sinking feeling pooled in his gut.

"In our' desperation to find a solution, we contacted the other planes for help. Celestials, fiends, abyssals, the great old ones - every power we could reach. And in the end, we found it. The cause of it all." Rocket's voice turned grim. "It was... disheartening, to say the least. The multiverse is vast beyond comprehension—truly infinite in every sense of the term. And we discovered that a great predator from beyond had descended upon our little corner of it."

He could feel the blood draining from his face.

"Yer world has been infested by an Entity. A being of immense, unfathomable power - a great devourer that seeks knowledge without end, consuming civilization after civilization to stave off the silence that awaits beyond the end of time. Its behavior is cyclical - it descends, seeds a world with conflict of unprecedented scale, and when its cycle ends, it departs in a great conflagration that breaks the dimensional boundaries and scours clean every world within its range with the heat of its departure."

Rocket's voice turned grave. "And the number of worlds within its range exceeds the number of particles that exist in yer material universe."

He stumbled.

"But all hope's not lost," Rocket continued. "Normally, some powerful seers arrange its demise before it's too late. But in this instance, some outside force removed a crucial variable - doomin' everything. So we made a plan. We empowered seven warlocks from a world outside the Entity's notice but still within its range. Seven new variables its precognition hasn't accounted for yet."

He exhaled shakily.

"Now, if only we knew the best way to kill it, that'd be grand."

Rocket huffed. "But whatever happens, know this—yer all heroes of the highest caliber. And we all pray for yer success."

He felt both honored and concerned by the task he had been burdened with - a task from which there was no escape. This wasn't the kind of thing one could simply run from. This... great devourer, this Entity was a threat to everything and everyone he had ever known and loved. Even if he was never able to see them again, he would have still agreed to take on this mission. That said, he was at ground zero of whatever catastrophe was about to unfold, and basic self-preservation dictated that he avoid perishing before he even had a chance to act.

After all, people die when they are killed.

"Alright, so what can you tell me about the world we're in right now?" he asked.

"This world is significantly divergent from mah own, lad—I can barely even feel the atmospheric mana here with how thin it is! You'd know more about it than I do since the base constants in this reality are more closely aligned with yours, even if the esoteric ones are far more divergent than mah own. All I know is that the divergence point that spawned this particular timeline happened about two decades ago, ah think?"

That wasn't helpful at all. Where was the exposition? What kind of shitty tutorial was this? Whatever the case, he needed somewhere secure to sleep for the night and a way to research what was happening in this world as soon as possible. He needed to get an idea of the broader situation. From some of the posters and faded newspaper headlines he had seen, this 'PRT' and 'Protectorate' seemed like something worth looking into. They appeared to be some sort of government-funded superhero organization like a more localized Avengers restricted to America. Or maybe this was more of a 'The Boys' situation but with more centralized control. They had commercialized their 'heroes' far too much for comfort, which didn't inspire much hope.

Ah well. He'd have to judge things himself.

-x-

ALI​

He woke up blearily in an alleyway, with no recollection of where he was or how he had gotten there. That was concerning enough on its own, but what truly unsettled him was the name printed on the crumpled newspaper in his hands.

Brockton Bay.

That name meant nothing to him. And yet, as his eyes scanned the rest of the paper, his confusion only deepened.

"America? How the fuck did I end up in America?"

Then he saw the date.

January 2011.

A sinking feeling settled in his gut. He glanced around, noting the clunky phones people carried, the slightly off fashion, and more disturbingly, the odd looks they kept sending his way. At first, he had dismissed it as cultural differences, but the little inconsistencies kept piling up. The price of food seemed absurdly high, though that could have been a tourist trap- but there were far too many of them for that explanation to hold.

And then, he saw it.

At first, it resembled an oil rig off the coast, but any sense of familiarity ended there. It was an architectural marvel - full of sweeping arches and spires illuminated by tinted spotlights, set upon a platform with hard edges and sleek lines. But he barely noticed any of that, because his focus was locked onto the bubble-like force field that encased it and the glowing roadway of light connecting it to the mainland.

"W-what? The fuck is going on?"

He looked around frantically, trying to gauge if anyone else was seeing the same thing he was. Instead, he found a tour guide pointing excitedly at the structure, her group listening with rapt attention as if this were nothing more than a tourist attraction.

A creeping sense of loss and claustrophobia climbed up his chest, making each breath heavier and faster. He was lost. Completely and utterly lost.

His gaze flicked back to the tour group. He needed a plan, fast. His hands flew to his pockets, searching desperately for his phone, his wallet - anything that could anchor him. Fingers met fabric, then nothing but lint.

Panic surged up his throat. No ID, no money, no phone.

He inhaled sharply. In. Out. Focus. He needed to get a handle on his immediate surroundings, assess potential threats, and establish an identity. Right now, the best course of action was blending in.

He moved toward the tourists, keeping his posture casual, hands in his pockets. The city stretched out before him, an odd mix of old and new - squat brick buildings standing beside sleek structures of steel and glass. Storefronts lined the sidewalks, some vibrant and welcoming, others worn-down and half-forgotten. The roads were cracked in places, patched in others, and though the streets were busy, an undercurrent of tension lingered in the air. It was subtle but unmistakable, the way people glanced over their shoulders, how conversations hushed when a uniformed figure walked past.

The Boardwalk though, was a long stretch of well-maintained walkway, lined with vendors selling everything from street food to souvenirs. The salty scent of the ocean mixed with the rolling noise of waves crashing against the shore. But what truly dominated the view was the structure in the bay - the massive oil rig repurposed into something out of a sci-fi movie, its colors distorted and saturated by the shimmering force field surrounding it. The glowing road of light connecting it to the mainland only made it stand out more.

The tour guide's voice rang out above the crowd's murmur.

"And here we have the Protectorate ENE Headquarters, home to Brockton Bay's premier heroes."

Superheroes?

His stomach twisted. He scanned the group, expecting at least some shock, but instead, they looked thrilled. Content. Cameras flashed, excited whispers spread, and the guide continued speaking as if this was just another part of the tour.

"As you all know, the Protectorate is a national organization supported by the Parahuman Response Team, the PRT. It is their duty is to keep the peace, especially in cities like this one, where crime and parahuman activity are… shall we say, a little higher than average. The Brockton Bay PRT ENE branch is especially competent, considering the city is the unofficial 'cape capital' of the USA."

Parahuman. Another unfamiliar term. He filed it away, his mind racing. This wasn't just another country. This was an entirely different world! Superheroes were spoken of like firefighters or something. Revered, but normal. Accepted.

A woman beside him nudged his arm, offering a small smile. She looked to be in her mid-thirties - or maybe her early forties, dressed casually in a tank top and jeans, but her elaborate jacket seemed like it was referencing something he didn't understand. The fedora on her head though, looked completely out of place. It should have been tacky, to be honest though she somehow made it work.

"Pretty crazy, huh?" she asked.

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, it's… a lot to take in."

She chuckled. "Tell me about it. First time visiting Brockton Bay?"

He paused. "Something like that."

"I get it. It's a city with a reputation," she said knowingly. "Sometimes it's exaggerated. You'd think this place was Cape Australia or something from what they say about it on PHO, but there's some truth to it. Still, most people come for the HQ tour, the Boardwalk, or just to see the heroes."

Feigning curiosity, he asked, "The heroes?"

"Of course. Armsmaster and Miss Militia were part of the inaugural Wards, yeah? They were a big deal back in the day - still are, considering they're some of the best heroes out there. And then there's Dauntless. His power grows over time, and they say he'll be Triumvirate-tier in a few years. Assault and Battery have a fun dynamic, if you couldn't tell from the name. And then there's Triumph - rargh!" She mimed claws like a lion about to pounce, clearly enjoying herself. "The Wards too, though they get into far too much trouble for comfort. But that's just Brockton Bay for you, I guess."

The crowd suddenly stirred, a murmur rippling through them as a man in blue and silver armor sped toward the PRT building on a high-tech motorcycle that looked like something out of Iron Man's fever dreams. A woman with a vaguely West-Asian appearance, draped in patriotic American imagery, rode on the back seat. Her hands flashed green, and suddenly a gun materialized in them. Very thematic, he mused to himself with mirth.

The two heroes zoomed past them all, heading straight for the Protectorate HQ. Excited chatter spread through the tourists, cameras snapping in quick succession.

The woman beside him grinned. "Looks like something interesting is gonna go down!"

He eyed her warily. Did she have no survival instincts? He didn't want to be anywhere near something considered "interesting" in a superhero setting. Had she never watched the movies? Read the comics? Was this social media brainrot asserting dominance?

"Ah well, I gotta—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. He needed to get to a library or somewhere he could do research. Figure out what kind of world he was dealing with and make an informed decision about his next move.

-x-

NARENDRA​

The alleyway buckled and twisted as a figure stepped out of a warped corridor of pinched space before snapping back into normality.

The figure itself was a daunting presence, standing well over six feet tall and clad in streamlined, almost organic plates of overlapping armor the color of the darkest night. Shadows roiled in the spaces between, where skin should have been.

The figure was not human.

The walking mass of shadows in the shape of a man, puppeteering a suit of armor, paused and looked down at his right arm, which hung limply at his side.

"Hm," he mused. "The sacrificed arm remains gone even as a being of shadow. Forming an 'extra' arm almost identical to the original works, but even the slightest lapse in concentration and it's gone. Not intuitive at all, unlike the rest of my body."

"Of course, it's gone," another voice spoke, deeper and infinitely more menacing - if not for the fact that its tone made it sound like a two-bit gangster. "That's the entire point of a sacrifice, dude. If you wanted better shadow powers, you should've picked umbramancy. I know I offered."

The man of shadow snorted, gazing down at the menacing greatsword in his hand, which glowed with a deeply unsettling red light that roiled and spiraled within the steel as if it were glass. As if the metal was merely a lens through which… something reached out.

"I am a being of shadow now. I would have figured out umbramancy on my own given enough time. The other subjects you offered through our pact are far harder to achieve independently and thus offer far more utility besides. And they require far more investment in time and effort to build up, so starting early was in my best interest, as opposed to learning them all the hard way. I'd know. Some magic items would also be nice. Preparation is king, after all."

The sword dimmed. "Understandable." it grumbled. "As long as you don't forget our agreement and use me to stab some bitches, I don't care what pansy-ass inferior artifacts you come up with in the meantime."

Yes, indeed, such was the nature of their pact. The Blade of Ruin was not human either. And unlike him, it never had been one. It was a sword, first and foremost, and it was a sword that wanted to be used - preferably in excessive displays of violence and gore while laughing maniacally, cursing their enemies both verbally and quite literally, all the while making everyone involved uncomfortable with all the innuendos and insults that laced its every sentence. He had heard enough penetration jokes today as it was, with all those mercenaries literally throwing themselves at his sword - which was why he was here in the first place.

The man of shadow had been quite distraught at the development at first, not having taken to being a murderer well, but those stupid fucking mercenaries just wouldn't stop. Until they did. But then the issue still remained: who had sent them after his non-existent ass in the first place?

The Blade of Ruin, on the other hand, was having the time of its life. It had invested a significant amount of its power into their pact. So much, in fact, that it was more 'present' at his side this very moment than wherever its 'true form' supposedly loitered. And the only thing it wanted? An arm, to kick off the exchange, and to stab people. It was particularly far more excited about the latter than the former, but it seemed to have already found their pact worth it, judging by its commentary.

It, too, was a being of shadow - a shadow elemental. That their pact had transformed the man of shadow into such a creature made it all the more obvious, but the blade's own nature was far more complex than his own.

Voids left by the absence of light were shadows, true, but also not—at least, not entirely. True Shadows encompassed everything shadows as a concept represented. True shadows were not quite an absence of something so much as they were a proof of existence. They were not reflections or images, but closer to lingering presences that pooled together. True shadows were echoes of reality, diffusing, sublimating, and conjoining until they became an indistinguishable static mass that drowned the light. All things had shadows. Some more obvious than others. Nations at war left shadows long after they were extinguished. Ideas and names had shadows, as did worlds themselves.

One could observe the shadows of a nation by the lingering impact it left behind long after its fall, just as one could observe the shadow of an idea by the effects it had on others. They were memetic in a way. This, too, was why the undead were included among their ranks, for what were the undying but the shadows of life itself? Such was why the shadows of weapons were so different - so visceral, distinct, personal, and malevolent as they were. And why the shadows of 'swords' were more powerful than, say, a 'gun.'

"So, you figured out what you were looking for?" asked the shadow of ruination, bringing his attention back to the topic at hand.

"Ah, the mercenaries. Yes, this is where it all leads."

"You like clairvoyance far too much." the blade groaned. "I don't like it. Scrying is such a wimpy thing to do, man."

"You're just saying that because you wanted more targets to stab."

"...I ain't makin' excuses, bitch. And what kind of threat is this Thomas Calvert guy anyway? He doesn't sound like much."

"Not sure. He's supposedly just a PRT consultant, but the amount of karmic threads that lead to him is absurd."

"You know what? I'm suddenly fine with this now."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I've seen this shit before. You wouldn't believe the amount of necromancers and supposed master manipulators who think they're hot shit that I've had to deal with back home. I'm all for cursing this bitch. You alright with that?"

"Sure. Go ahead, do your thing, sword."

[FUCK YOU IN PARTICULAR, THOMAS!]

"Really? The strongest curse in our repertoire, a malediction that calls down the scorn of causality itself, and that's how you invoke it?"

"What's wrong with it, huh, punk? It keeps it simple, to the point. Explicit."

The man palmed his face. "How strong is that one?" he asked eventually.

"About 10% compared to full power, I think. Not immediately lethal, but Thomas is about to have a series of very bad days, yo."

"Good. It'll force him to show his hand if he is indeed involved. And if he turns out to be innocent, I won't have another death on my conscience."

"Don't worry, dude, my conscience is pretty light as is. Nobody's innocent—it's never too late to stab someone."

"You don't have a conscience."

"Exactly. It's lighter than yours will ever be. Hakuna Matata and all that."

"Stop ruining my childhood, blade."

"Heh."

-x-

SERENA​

Serena swam toward the sci-fi oil rig, surrounded by what appeared to be a forcefield of some sort. It was a sight straight out of a comic book, and if she herself hadn't woken up in the sea as a mermaid - or was it a siren, considering her wings and distinctly carnivorous impulses? - she might have dismissed it as impossible. Whatever the case, she was already steeped in some kind of weird portal fantasy situation, so based on a proven statistic of one, correlation might just equal causation in this instance.

Hesitant to approach the obviously modern city in the distance, she had no idea what kind of reception to expect from a presumably mundane population. While heading toward the dramatically more technologically advanced oil rig might carry more direct risk, there was a higher chance that its occupants had the answers she needed. Besides, it wasn't as if she was helpless.

As she neared the structure, she studied the forcefield enclosing it, frowning at how everything inside looked oversaturated - like someone had badly adjusted the TV settings, but with reality itself. It was… odd.

Still, her mana sense told her that the barrier was purely technological in origin, with no inherent resistance to spatial manipulation.

"I see," she murmured with a smile. Decision made, she swiped her hand through the air, clawing at the intangible textures of reality only she could perceive - folding the space in between and tearing open a rift from here to there. She surged forward, accompanied by a torrent of saltwater that splashed onto the helipad but remained a cohesive, floating mass under her control.

Slowly, she drifted toward the edge of the water and attempted to set herself down on the platform. The moment she was about to make contact, her magic instinctively polymorphed her sinuous tail into a pair of human-like legs. It was a simple enough effort to shape some clothing over her form as well - flashing the swarming riot-armored goons scurrying like a kicked anthill wasn't on her to-do list.

"Hail!" she called out jovially. "I come in peace! Take me to your leader!" She flashed a beaming smile at the assembled paramilitary troops.

There was a shift behind their ranks, and they parted, revealing what could only be described as an honest-to-god blue-and-silver Power Ranger, complete with a magnificent beard and a high-tech halberd in hand. On second glance, it was clearly power armor, but the intrusive thought had already taken root.

Blue Ranger he remained.

He raised his halberd, the weapon humming with a smooth, barely perceptible energy that set her esoteric senses tingling.

"What is your purpose here, parahuman?" he asked.

"Hey there! I just arrived, and I'm quite lost. Can you tell me where we are?" she replied, answering his question with one of her own.

His expression remained unreadable behind his visor, but his body language radiated scrutiny. Even so, Serena's enhanced hearing picked up the burst of noise from his comms - voices, orders, discussion. A built-in communications system? And some kind of advanced interface with no obvious tells? Very impressive.

After a moment, he gave her a slow nod. "We will restrain you until we confirm. Will you comply, or will you fight me?" he stated, laying down his ultimatum.

Her smile dimmed slightly before she sighed. It was going to be one of those days, wasn't it?

-x-

HENRY​

Henry stared down at the assembled women gazing up at him with reverence and worship, and he smiled. Each of the six individuals before him glowed with fragments of his power in his mind's eye. Yes, each of those fragments diminished his own magic in turn, but temporarily weakened powers were a small price to pay for the investment in fanatically loyal followers who would now obey his every whim.

There was more than one form of power, after all.

Such was the nature of their pact. Shackled to his will as their minds might be, the versatility and intelligence they provided were invaluable - not to mention his investments. And what worthwhile investments they were indeed. Even if they perished, however much they had developed their borrowed magic and skills would remain intact when those fragments of power inevitably returned to him.

His gaze drifted to the apartment window, past the blonde crawling at his feet to whom the apartment belonged, and he surveyed the skyline with poorly concealed excitement and greed.

Soon, it would all belong to him.

It felt good to be powerful.

He could get used to this feeling.

-x-

IRENE​

Irene walked down the corridor, eyeing the walls of the school with a critical gaze. As far as schools went, this one was pretty bad. Not the worst she had ever seen, certainly, but there was a deliberate sense of neglect that was difficult to ignore. For a place that would change the world and set the dominoes in motion, it was disappointingly mundane.

Then again, her divination had not been clear on the specifics. Her experience with reading the future was still lacking, so this might just be a particularly bad case of the butterfly effect spiraling out of control.

As she continued walking, the foul stench of rot and blood grew stronger with every step. Concern flickered across her face as she quickened her pace, following the scent through the winding hallways until she arrived at a locker; the source of the overpowering odor.

The moment she reached for the lock, her dormant divinatory ability suddenly jolted awake, screaming into her mind.

Irene hesitated, her wariness deepening as her precognition flickered out just as quickly, the spell's mana exhausted. Bracing herself for whatever she would find, she covered her nose with her sleeve and yanked open the locker door with every ounce of strength her limiter-unshackled body could offer.

The hinges snapped instantly.

What she had not expected was for the mass of rotting bloodied tampons, garbage, and skittering insects to come tumbling out with the door.

"FUCK!" she shrieked, leaping back in disgust and revulsion—though not quickly enough to avoid getting filth on herself.

It was only then that she noticed the lanky teenage girl lying sprawled on the floor, curly hair now drenched in filth.

Irene's eyes widened in shock and horror. The sun had set long ago - how long had this girl been trapped inside that coffin? Why had no one come looking for her? What kind of teenager could have the capacity to do something like this? The questions spiraled through her mind, but she shoved them aside.

A sick feeling twisted in her gut as she rushed forward, pressing two fingers to the girl's bloodied wrist.

Ah shit.

A pulse of biomantic energy confirmed the worst.

The girl was almost dead.

Her organs were already beginning to shut down. She had to have been trapped in that locker for at least half a day, maybe longer. Worse, she had injured herself trying to escape, adding blood loss, infection, and what was probably septic shock to an already dire situation. Her bloodstream was riddled with contaminants, her skin covered in insect bites—some venomous, further overloading her failing system.

But more than anything, it was the hypothermia that was killing her.

It was the middle of January, somewhere in New Hampshire if Irene's estimation was correct. The nights were brutally cold, even if she herself didn't feel it now. But she knew well enough what that kind of exposure could do to a person.

Irene exhaled sharply, resignation settling in her chest.

There was no saving her.

Her biomancy wasn't advanced enough to mend so many catastrophic failures all at once. By the time she worked through even a single one, it would be too late.

But there was one option left.

Unlike biomancy, this one wasn't nearly as complicated.

"I hope you forgive me," she murmured, placing a hand on the girl's chest. Sickly green necromantic energy flared to life in her palm as she poured over half her mana into the ritual - enough to make it stick. The drain would take a long time to recover from, but at least it would put the girl out of her misery.

It was the only way to save her.

The girl's heart gave a final, weak beat.

Then, silence.

And then -

Her eyes snapped open, glowing a deep, violent red.

No pulse ran through her veins.

And yet, from her lips tore an anguished wail.

There would be no rest for her yet.

-x-​

Max Mp: 100 (Varies according to build)
Mp regeneration: +6MP/Hour (Varies according to build), +100% regeneration during meditation, Full recovery on sleeping.

-x-

BUILDS:​

CYOA

ABEL 'THE AETHEREAL LIFEBINDER'

magic,3jjl,phwl/ON#2,bwew,p64e,3gng,bm6o,dd7i,rnxe,yqxm,h3wv,ktl2,6uzk,t4je,6gp0,8dop,epp0,worm,vq3g,m9a1,d54f,b4p0,5qha,44jx,tn73,nlzc,152x,vs3p,bvdo

Magic, Multiplayer, Pact -> Magic(Taken 2 Times), Aetherborn, Blood, Harsh, Everpresent, Magical Fields, Eldritch Energy, Transmutation, Biomancy, Titanic, Expert, Witchsight, Flesh of the Mighty, Keeper of the Dead, Partial Transformation, Worm, Let There Be Light, Karmic Balance, Resurgence, Tooth and Nail, Combat Talent, Invictus, Gravitas, Savant Syndrome, Prodigy, Interesting Times, Honesty

ALISTAIR 'THE CELESTIAL BATTLEMAGE'

3jjl,phwl/ON#2,95bh,vw98,f4lw,vzn0,pm1i,ff5l,toui,yqxm,z30t,n1p3,8nd3,kia5,1l6c,worm,vq3g,0783,5qha,tn73,k6xb,pqiw,152x,l0sa,vs3p

Multiplayer, Pact -> Magic(Taken 2 Times), Celestial, Soul, Mild, Absent, Magical Barriers, Photomancy, Chronurgy, Transmutation, Counter Magic, Bare Minimum, Intermediate, Planeshifting, Unchanged, Worm, Let There Be Light, Sleepless, Combat Talent, Gravitas, Library, Occluded, Prodigy, Rough Start, Interesting Times

NARENDRA 'THE HEXBLADE ENCHANTER'

3jjl,phwl/ON#14,rga9,owu8,yzja,bm6o,1bdk,wec5,axjr,4kzs,s5c5,rdur,xmf0,b5jb,ktl2,6uzk,mhmz,kia5,8av8,40p6,cnl3,0j48,worm,yq3k,px1w,m9a1,d54f,ibzi,k6xb,pqiw,l0sa,3qr2,vs3p,bvdo,4y28

Multiplayer, Pact -> Magic(Taken 14 Times), Hexblade, Body, Cruel, Everpresent, Pyromancy, Personal Defences, Scrying, Artifice, Enchanting, Conjuration, Space-Manipulation, Curses, Titanic, Expert, Master of Artifacts, Planeshifting, Whispers of the Damned, Pyramid Scheme, Felfire, Complete Transformation, Worm, Rival, Conspiracy, Karmic Balance, Resurgence, Shadow, Library, Occluded, Rough Start, Secrecy, Interesting Times, Honesty, Villainy

IRENE 'THE NECROMANCER'

3jjl,phwl/ON#12,dvb6,p64e,yzja,bm6o,9rcx,5gtf,y8cq,8lrt,mh1c,fyzn,b5jb,h3wv,n1p3,6uzk,cf5g,7809,epp0,worm,d54f,ibzi,25hx,pqiw,l0sa,3qr2,vs3p,bvdo

Multiplayer, Pact -> Magic(Taken 12 Times), Undead, Blood, Cruel, Everpresent, Divination, Umbramancy, Golem-Crafting, Warding, Necromancy, Spiritmancy, Curses, Biomancy, Bare Minimum, Expert, Consumption, Eldritch Gaze, Partial Transformation, Worm, Resurgence, Shadow, Sensitivity, Occluded, Rough Start, Secrecy, Interesting Times, Honesty

SERENA 'THE ABYSSAL ELEMENTALIST'

3jjl,phwl/ON#13,8anx,2h17,yzja,hcec,x5w5,zvw1,nxyw,npk3,jr6h,n9uc,ktl2,2wpt,kia5,8av8,9z8n,6gp0,f880,epp0,worm,k9da,px1w,d54f,l0sa,3qr2,vs3p,bvdo

Multiplayer, Pact -> Magic(Taken 13 Times), Fathomless, Mind, Cruel, Regular, Hydromancy, Aeromancy, Geomancy, Electromancy, Polymorphism, Space-Traversal, Titanic, Advanced, Planeshifting, Whispers of the Damned, Patron's Call, Flesh of the Mighty, Domain Summoning, Partial Transformation, Worm, Antithesis, Conspiracy, Resurgence, Rough Start, Secrecy, Interesting Times, Honesty

HENRY 'THE DEMONOLOGIST'

3jjl,phwl/ON#5,jwcs,vw98,yzja,bm6o,1bdk,pm1i,wec5,b7em,aul8,rdur,fyzn,n9uc,vipb,6uzk,40p6,cnl3,f880,epp0,worm,k9da,mion,d54f,ibzi,5qha,tn73,25hx,nlzc,k6xb,pqiw,152x,3qr2

Multiplayer, Pact -> Magic(Taken 5 Times), Fiend, Soul, Cruel, Everpresent, Pyromancy, Magical Barriers, Personal Defences, Thought-Reading, Memory Manipulation, Conjuration, Spiritmancy, Space-Traversal, Small, Expert, Pyramid Scheme, Felfire, Domain Summoning, Partial Transformation, Worm, Antithesis, Vengeance, Resurgence, Shadow, Combat Talent, Gravitas, Sensitivity, Savant Syndrome, Library, Occluded, Prodigy, Secrecy

-x-​

CHOOSE:

THE PLAYER CHARACTER:

[ ] Make Player build & backstory.

[ ] Vote for another's build.

[ ] Post a Character Creation Prompt.

 

[The Well Wisher]

I already voted on SB, but I'll post my build here in case anyone else is interested.

[ ] Nell Barlowe, "The Restless Beast"

Spoiler: Full Build

Magic, Multiplayer, Pact -> Magic(Taken 1 Times), Beast, Mind, Cruel, Absent, Polymorphism, Biomancy, Counter Magic, Small, Basic, Witchsight, Patron's Call, Flesh of the Mighty, Complete Transformation, Worm, Sleepless, Tooth and Nail, Combat Talent

magic,3jjl,phwl/ON#1,ixkb,2h17,yzja,vzn0,jr6h,h3wv,z30t,vipb,ks7b,t4je,9z8n,6gp0,0j48,worm,0783,b4p0,5qha

I don't have much to say about her. She's a fully transformed warlock with a beast patron, who can use counter magic to force physical fights which she's good at since she has Combat Talent.