A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Chapter 355: A Puppet of Power - Part 6

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Arrows came for him now, and he had another word to say for them.

"Fom," he said, simple, and articulate. Within an instant, an invisible barrier was erected around him, and the arrows bounced off. It was a field of magic, more than anything, capable of repelling small projectiles, though it didn't do quite so well against strong-armed melee attacks.

Regardless, it served its purpose well enough, allowing him to see the battlefield, whilst protecting him from any counterattacks.

He could still sense the concentration of darkness within Beam, denser than a bomb, heavy and unmoving. The boy's breathing was slowing. At any moment, it seemed as though his heart would stop. If those were Ingolsol's intentions, then he was achieving his aim quite splendidly. It was the body of the boy, after all, and the power stored within it, that would give Francis the result he desired.

And still, the power that he was draining from the surrounding area continued to pour in. The blood and chaos spilt by all the fighting beneath him, that only added to it. Streams of negativity sat in the air like humidity. He wove his hands, exerting what little control he did have over them, and attempting to gather them all in one place.

It was like trying to gather up all the steam from a kettle – a thoroughly difficult and irritating task.

He directed it all towards one location, with his clones helping him. He fed it towards Beam, and as he did so, he felt his heart pound. E wasn't sure if this added power would gather up with the rest, pulled in by its density… but he couldn't help but try. The more he could concentrate in one place, the better, for the more powerful the manifestation of Ingolsol would be.

Before Beam passed, Francis made good use of him, directing more darkness his way, hoping that it would gather, and cluster.

And it did. Far more than could be expected, and with far less effort than he had expected it to. As he had planned this event, this was the part that he had thought hardest on. It was something he couldn't emulate, he couldn't practise. He was sure if anything was to go wrong, then it would be here. The end result was far beyond his expectations.

All the darkness of the dome began to hover around Beam in a loose sphere. Thinly at first, and then growing more and more tightly packed, as Beam's body drank in more of it.

There was a cry of agony beneath his feet, as Beam's fingers curled, grasping at wet snow and mud, pulling it tight into his hands.

That was all they needed to know to confirm the truth. The mage had done it – he'd done it all. Nila glared up at him hatefully, as Greeves ground his teeth. They saw the mage waggling his fingers, like a conductor, directing more and more suffering towards Beam.

His low groans were like music to Francis' ears, a song he played for his Dark Lord, hoping that he would hear it.

Francis could have sworn he heard a cackle of delight, and he allowed himself a smile at that, a smile that he thought to be shallow, and reserved, but a smile that in reality distorted his face like a mask.

"Why does that make you laugh so heartily?" Desebel asked, as Ingolsol leaned back on his throne, covering his face with one hand.

"Well—they're just so interesting," he chuckled. "Every few hundred years, one of them comes along to subvert our expectations, to turn everything on its head, to make everything interesting. Thank goodness for immortality. I will never tire of this."

"Have you not already killed him?" Desebel said doubtfully. "You've already ruined your own fun."

"Ohh, no, my sweet little demon," Ingolsol sat, patting her head between her horns in a rare display of affection. "This is already outside my intentions. The best kind of play – a play that surprises you. But I have no doubt now, better than if he had fallen to it like a dog, I will hear her voice complain. She will reach me, she will see, and she will understand."

"How can you be so sure?" Desebel asked.

Ingolsol did not respond. He merely returned to the observing of the liquid in his goblet, and the drama that was unfolding inside of it. He could only imagine what was going on inside Claudia's chambers, a place that he had visited only once.

"Calm yourself, Claudia," he murmured delightedly, mimicking the voice of Claudia's attendant, and what he was sure she would be saying right about now.

"My lady… This is not a good idea," she said instead. He had not seen either of them in thousands of years, and time changed things, even Gods. But though their words were different, the situation was quite as he had imagined it.

Claudia, with a distraught expression, as she leaned over her pool. With the barrier over the battlefield, her view was murky, but she'd soon given it her entire focus, once she'd noted that her old nemesis had joined the fray.

"We cannot allow him to simply do as he pleases," Claudia said firmly. "If that amount of divine energy explodes itself in the mortal realm… and especially if it's of Ingolsol's origin… the consequences would be devastating."

Her attendant was unmoved by her argument, as she gently tried to pry the knife from Claudia's hand.

"And if you add your own divine energy, you will make it twice as bad, will you not?" She said gently.

Claudia remained unconvinced. "Did you not see it?" She hissed, her face uncharacteristically angry. When it involved Ingolsol, she was always thus. She could not hide her hatred for him. "Ingolsol poured that much divine energy down on him, and not only did he resist it, he assimilated it – he wielded it."

"It was most impressive," her attendant agreed, squeezing her lady's hand to reassure her. "But a human simply can not stand that much energy, not for long periods of time. It has to escape, one way or another, he will have to syphon it away, if he is to stand any chance."