Mage Tank

Ayama was an ecological impossibility. It was a verdant nation established in the center of the Wastes. A century prior, the space it occupied had been as barren as everything else around its borders. Godking Ayamari had spent decades performing magical terraforming of the region, an ongoing project that transformed frigid, lifeless desert into a lush, temperate rainforest.

No other nation held claim to the Wastes, since no one wanted it. The land was worthless. Given time, Ayama would presumably stretch to cover the entire northern fifth of the continent. None of the world powers opposed the nation’s growth, since Ayamari was creating inhabitable land where none had been before.

The only people who might have been miffed were those who eked out a life within the Wastes, trying to escape all the baggage of civilization.

Of Arzia’s officially recognized nations, Ayama had the lowest population density, but the kingdom had the highest diversity by a wide margin. Every citizen was an immigrant and those immigrants hailed from all corners of the continent.

Ayama was well-known for accepting refugees and outcasts with open arms. Anyone who sought to escape the woes of their homeland was welcome. On the other hand, everyone else could take a hike. Ayama’s attitude toward her sister nations was somewhat frigid.

Relations weren’t hostile–no one was stupid enough to challenge Ayamari–but diplomacy was an uphill battle. The nation was self-sufficient, the bountiful environment provided everything her citizens would need, the terrain made it a natural fortress, and it was guarded by the most powerful person in the world.

It was a pseudo-utopia protected by Arzia’s equivalent of Superwoman. It didn’t want or need any of the rest of the world’s nonsense.

Attempts at trade generally went something along the lines of:

Everyone else: “Hey, you need anything, Ayama?”

Ayama: “Nah, we good.”

Everyone: “Mind if we visit?”

Ayama: “Keep yourself and your problems right where they are.”

Everyone: “Wanna come over and hang out, instead?”

Ayama: “Your house is kind of shitty, so no thanks.”

Gaining entry into Ayama was selectively impossible, depending on the purpose of the visit. If we’d needed to get inside Ayama’s borders, it wouldn’t have been nearly so easy as tearing our way through a naval fleet and a small horde of Delvers. No one knew what, exactly, guarded the forest’s edges, but no one who’d tried to sneak inside had ever returned.

Fortunately, we weren’t heading directly into Ayama. We were heading north of the kingdom and got a lovely–albeit very distant–flyby view as we entered an area of the Wastes that was even more hostile to life than the rest of it.

Hostile to mundane life, that is.

The northern Wastes was a great place to live for the varieties of ‘life’ that had a bottomless appetite for mana and the vigor to survive in subarctic temperatures.

It was like, if the North Pole was colder, bathed in radiation, and the polar bears were ten stories tall, had 300% more teeth, and were sentient flesh-eating blizzards instead of being polar bears.

Altitude didn’t seem to matter to these things, either.

I was currently riding in a harness below Varrin, who was flying us over the polar wasteland in excess of 800 miles per hour. The air whipping past was thin of oxygen, thick with Physical mana, and about a hundred degrees below zero.

The big guy’s Hiwardian constitution combined with his Fortitude gave him a wealth of protection from the hostile elements, whereas I was relying on the power of layers, my general resilience, and allowing my health regeneration to fix any toes that fell off due to frostbite.

Everyone else was hanging out in the Closet while we plucked yet another dozen frigid fangs from our bedraggled flight suits. The elemental mana fiends were practically immune to Physical damage, but Spiritual and Dimensional still tore them up pretty well.

Our warmer party members occasionally sent us the psychic equivalent of a selfie, sitting around a fire and roasting meat skewers.

It would have been so easy to open the Closet entrance while we were a mile high and everyone else was still in their summer clothes.

Etja vetoed the idea.

Putting that aside, we were heading into this nonsense for four reasons.

One: Grotto had the location of a platinum Delve in our Level range that should be an Expansion Delve. We were each still short one Active Skill slot and one Intrinsic Skill slot to complete our full Phase Two loadout. The entrance to that Delve was in this unpleasant region.

Two: Grotto had records of an armory containing stockpiles of Prismatite near our objective Delve, which we wanted to get our hands on. Prismatite was an exotic material that could be used to craft items granting bonuses to Mystical damage and Mystical DR. It was the only material that granted Mystical DR as an inherent trait, and no stat improved Mystical defense, making sources of damage reduction for the school extremely valuable. I was in need of an armor upgrade, and Prismatite was calling my name.

Three: The rest of the world was out hunting Dungeons in the most obvious of places. Only masochists and psychopaths would be crawling through the northern Wastes looking for Dungeons when they could potentially find one down the street. Literally, down the street. The Littans told us about two Dungeons they’d found hidden in an alley in the Littan capital. If we found any Dungeons out here, we’d have them to ourselves.

Four: Avarice had given us a token after our first meeting that would act as an introduction to a potential group of allies in the fight against the avatars. Those allies, whoever they might be, were hiding out in the highest and coldest mountains in all of Arzia. Those mountains, most bitter and frigid, were located along the northernmost edge of the continent. The northernmost edge of the continent, as one might suspect, was found north of the northern Wastes.

We planned to pursue these goals in the order presented above, but would otherwise be opportunistic based on the sequence in which the world guided them to us. We hoped that the armory was part of the Expansion Delve. That would be a nice two-fer. Dungeons would be explored if and when we found them while traveling between the other objectives.

Time and frosty toes permitting, we’d do a more expansive search for Dungeons after completing items one, two, and four.

“There’s a big column of Spiritual mana below,” I thought to Varrin. “Eleven o’clock.”

Varrin confirmed and swept down toward the mana signature, the only notable feature in an otherwise pristine expanse of ice and snow. We were near Grotto’s estimated location for the Delve, so I was hoping this marked the entrance. If not, maybe it would be a clue.

Spiritual mana billowed up from a large crack in the ice, drifting hundreds of feet into the air. Several tornadoes of twisting ice and fangs surrounded it, their windy bodies suffused with crackling violet energy. The ones we’d faced so far had been larger and soaked in Physical mana, whereas these were a blend of the two schools.

The twisters were a mere thirty feet in height–as opposed to a hundred–though the one closest to the mana vent was half that size, with a much denser concentration of mana in its form. It also had a vaguely humanoid shape.

I shot it an identify.

Spectral Ice Fiend: Undead Elemental, Grade 20

Nothing too threatening.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The rest were missing the Undead classification and ranged from Grade 15 to 18.

“The Physical Fiends were immune to Physical damage,” I thought to the party. “Shall we assume these are immune to Physical and Spiritual?”

[It is more like that they are resistant to both,] Grotto replied. [Possessing a blend gives them versatility in exchange for vulnerability.]

“Nuralie and I will be disadvantaged,” Varrin added.

“Their bodies look like they’re mostly mana,” I thought to the group. “I’m betting Mystical will fuck ‘em up. Actually, why am I even speculating? Nuralie, we’re gonna drop you off to take a closer look.”

The rest of the party was gearing up while we discussed. Varrin swept around the elementals from a mile out until everyone was ready to go, then dropped closer to the ground.

I opened the Closet and Nuralie hopped out, her body wrapped in enough dark furs that she was more poof than person. She peered across the tundra while she used Target Analysis, her eyes obscured by thick goggles.

“Fifty percent resistance to most Physical. Complete immunity to Cold and Spectral,” she thought to us. “High defense against Dimensional Planar but not Spatial. Weak to Force and Sonic.”

“That’s weird,” I thought. “Sonic is Physical damage.”

“Perhaps it disrupts their form,” Varrin sent back.

“Alright. I blow ‘em up, Etja hits ‘em with Mystic Blast, and Xim burns ‘em with Judgment. Nuralie can watch for any new arrivals while Varrin can uh…”

“Parry spell attacks?” he proposed.

“Yeah. Let’s go with that.”

“Can I suggest something?” asked Etja as she floated out of the Closet. She’d darkened her skin until it was pitch black and wore her normal enchanted dress without any extra layers. The cold didn’t seem to bother her one bit.

“Always,” I replied. “And I appreciate you pretending like I could say no.”

She frowned at me. “It’s not a Project Mindfuck idea. Just a regular one.”

“Sorry. I’m getting frustrated by the situation.”

“We all are,” Varrin added.

“Anyway, please continue Etja.”

She planted her staff in the ground. “I think I can Nullify them.”

I looked at the half-dozen distant twisters. “Really?” Etja nodded. “Okay, go ahead.”

Etja flew towards the Fiends while the rest of us followed close behind. The mage powered up her Finishing Move combo, the windy monsters only taking notice of us when we were a hundred feet away. They blew towards us as a group, leaving the smaller Fiend behind. The Grade 20 Undead Elemental continued to absorb mana from the vent while its pack moved to deal with us.

Etja’s hands and staff glowed with power, and when the five creatures were all tightly gathered within fifty feet of us, she released a wave of mystic, mana-eating power. It swept through the Fiends, dissolving the energy that kept their whirling bodies assembled.

They burst into gales of wind, then dissipated. The razor fangs twisting within them scattered into the snow.

“Damn,” I thought. “That was easy.”

“Hmm, more expensive than I thought it would be,” Etja psychically muttered.

I bounded across the ice to investigate one of the fangs. The tooth quivered, so I smashed it with Somncres. Its Physical resistance didn’t seem to matter much when it was just a tooth. Varrin, Xim, and I went around destroying the rest of the teeth while Etja disintegrated a few to absorb with Incorporate.

The Grade 20 finally took note of us. Rather than engage, it manifested a pair of ghostly orbs near the center of its humanoid body, which rolled over us like a giant pair of eyes. After giving us a good, hard look, it decided we were more trouble than we were worth.

It shot up into the air and flew away.

We debated going after it but decided to leave it be. A single Grade 20 wasn’t much of a threat to our full party, and it wasn’t like there were any settlements nearby for it to attack. Ayama was two hundred miles to the south, and if it decided to head there it wouldn’t last long anyway.

“What made it an Undead Elemental, do ya’ think?” I asked the group as we clomped forward through the ice and snow toward the mana vent.

Varrin paused in front of the vent, which was a twenty-foot wide crack in the ice. He held out a hand and ran it through the dense mana flowing upward.

“This Spiritual mana is so thick,” the big guy thought, “I expect it would be visible even without an appropriate attunement or some form of mana sight. It is all of the Spectral subtype as well. The Fiend may have absorbed so much that it was corrupted.”

“Where’s it coming from?” asked Etja.

[This is likely being purged from a Delve below us. The Delve is at capacity and the core is jettisoning what it cannot use.]

“Seems wasteful,” I thought.

[Not all Delve Cores have access to an infinite mana sink, such as the Closet’s expansion mechanism.]

“Fair enough. If this mana ‘corrupted’ the fiend into an Undead, does that mean it’s, like, ghost mana? Spectral mana isn’t necessarily death-related. Or is it?”

[It is not. However, Undead typically emit Spectral mana, so the idea that it originates from a mass grave or tomb holds some merit.]

“Mass grave?” asked Nuralie. Pause. “So it is ghosts?”

[Ghosts, wraiths, zombies, skeletons, liches, wrights, poltergeists, death knights, draugrs… It could be many things.]

“Most Undead are merely constructs,” Varrin thought to us. “Entities animated through dark magicks. They are rarely ensouled.”

“Then we should expect a Necromancer?” I asked.

“We should expect anything,” Varrin replied. “However, I am inclined to find out for myself, rather than continue to speculate.”

The big guy took a few steps back from the vent and looked around. His hand dropped to Kazandak’s hilt, but he paused and thought, then decided against using the blade. He raised a heavy boot and stomped.

His foot shattered the ice and his leg sank in up to his knee. Large fissures cracked out from the impact for nearly a hundred feet and the ground rumbled. I adjusted my footing as the ice began to move, then decided to make things easier on myself and hopped up into the air, locking myself in place with Gracorvus. I hadn’t used the shield to float much since gaining the ability to fly with Therianthropy, but for hanging out midair in one spot, it was pretty efficient.

Varrin surveyed the damage, then squatted and shoved his arms into the ice. Once he was shoulder-deep, he heaved upward and tossed aside a slab of frozen ground several times larger than he was. It probably weighed in the three-elephant range. Varrin dropped into the hole and repeated the tactic.

Xim trotted forward and dropped in behind the big guy, giving him an assist. Together, the pair hurled out multi-ton blocks of ice and frozen earth every few seconds. They excavated a massive pit in a couple of minutes, stopping when they hit dark brickwork about forty feet down. The mana was seeping out between the blocks.

Varrin was just about to try his luck punching a hole through the bricks when a portal appeared on its surface.

“Hey, look at that,” I thought. “Weird place for a portal.”

[Obviously this is not the front door, so to speak. I expect the Delve Core would rather invite you inside through a temporary entrance than have you breach the Delve’s exterior like a group of vandals.]

I shrugged, figuring one way in was as good as any other, and then inspected the portal.

Portal to Delve 9963: Throne of Zng

Difficulty: Platinum

Expansion: Yes

Current accumulation level: 1+

Level Requirement: 13 - 15

Party Size Requirement: 5

[The accumulation level reflects that the Delve has exceeded its mana storage capacity. Expansion Delve, appropriate Level range. Yes, this looks ideal for our needs.]

“Zzzzznnnnggg,” I said aloud. “How do you pronounce that?”

“I think you got it on the first try,” said Xim. She had to yell through the thick furs wrapping her face.

“It is not a tomb,” Nuralie thought to us. “Why does a throne have Undead?”

[The Wastes was the seat of a military superpower during the prior generation. We are near where the capital would have been.]

“Great!” I said. “A Delve Core co-opted the ruins of an ancient and powerful civilization, resurrecting its most potent warriors and bending them to its own twisted ends. Sounds fun.”

“Shall we enter?” asked Varrin.

We all turned to Etja. She leaned over the pit to check the portal, then gave us a thumbs up. I grinned wide and jumped down into the hole.

I landed on top of the portal, which teleported me into the Delve before I could even feel my boots make contact.

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