Mana Devourer/HHS - Book 2, Ch. 5

Waking Cyrus was a surprisingly difficult task. He’d have imagined that rousing the orc would be a simple matter considering the life of battle he’d had, and yet Markus had to call his name at least ten times to make him so much as stir a little.

“You’re really enjoying that new bed, huh?” Markus chuckled, getting a nondescript grunt in response.

Cyrus slowly rose to a sitting position. He looked like a zombie.

“What is it,” he more stated than asked, his body slumped over the edge of the bed.

“I was gonna ask you if you were down for a little sparring, but…”

“I am,” Cyrus insisted, lurching himself to his feet and walking over to grab his weapon belt. 

He moved like he was drunk, arms swaying, struggling to fasten the belt around him. 

Markus peered at him as he sauntered his way over to the bars and unlocked his cell. Saw him in the light for the first time.

He had heavy bags under his eyes. Not only that, but the cut around his chest from his last arena fight seemed to be turning a rather sickly yellow.

“Are… are you okay?” Markus asked.

“Fine,” Cyrus insisted, rubbing his eyes for a moment and then yanking the gate open. He still wobbled a little as he stepped out, but soon righted himself, heading in the direction of the sparring halls looking no worse for wear than he ever did. 

Markus followed after him, still nowhere near convinced. “That looks bad,” he said, motioning to Cyrus’ cut. “You should really get it healed.”

“We’ve been over this already,” Cyrus insisted, reminding Markus of their previous conversation. “Leave it alone.”

“It looks infected.” Markus stared at the offending wound as they walked. “That could kill you if it gets much worse. You should do something about it before it becomes a real problem.”

“It’s not a problem.” Cyrus’ voice was hard and unwavering. He clearly didn’t want his battle scar touched. “They have me training gladiators now. It’s tiring. All I need is to get some shut-eye once in a while.”

“Oh… I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.”

“Don’t apologise,” Cyrus said. “I enjoy sparring with you. You’re more interesting than any of the fighters they have me training. That being said, it’s been some time since we spoke. What happened during your last fight?”

The gears in Markus’ brain began to all-too-slowly turn. “No one’s told you about my last fight?” he asked.

“Nobody tells me shit down here.” Cyrus laughed, a deep and gruff sound that emanated from the base of his throat. “I just do as I’m told.”

Markus idly wondered if he could buy out Cyrus’ freedom with one of the writs he was carrying. He supposed it depended if Drathok would take him up on the offer. He made a note to ask about it when he next saw the demon.

After all, what good was sudden wealth if you couldn’t use it on your friends?

The two of them walked to the sparring hall as Markus caught Cyrus up on recent events and he did the same in turn. His eyes widened when Markus regaled him with the tale of his many deaths. He said that Markus was a warrior amongst warriors for surviving such a thing and being willing to pick up a weapon once more.

It felt like incredible praise coming from a man like Cyrus. It made Markus happy.

“That tiger girl came around a few times during your recovery,” Cyrus mentioned as they walked.

“Rika?” Markus felt something between anxiety and relief. “How is she?”

“We only spoke the one time,” Cyrus said. “She said that you didn’t want company, and that she was worried she’d been overcrowding you. She decided to give you some space.”

Some space? Why would Markus not want Rika around him?

He knew that after using his compound skill he wasn’t in his right mind for a bit, but if he’d given her that impression, he needed to make things up to her. He didn’t want Rika feeling as if he didn’t appreciate her after everything that she’d done for him.

“When’s the last time you saw her?” Markus asked.

“A couple of nights ago. She usually comes by in the evenings. That was when I spoke to her.”

“You didn’t even know if I was better by then, did you?”

“No. I told her as much. She was adamant that you’d recover, of course.

“She wasn’t your only visitor, either,” Cyrus continued.

“Really?” Markus asked as they reached the training hall, the pair of them stepping inside. “Who else?”

“The imp that likes to shout.”

“Abrah came by?”

“Is that his name?” Cyrus scratched his head. “Anyways, I kept an eye to make sure he wasn’t trying to steal anything, but he seemed to just visit for a few moments and then leave.”

Markus could scarcely imagine that Abrah had come to check on his wellbeing. Maybe he’d wanted something from him?

That made more sense. Either way, Markus wanted to catch up with the little bastard soon.

“Shall we begin, then?” Cyrus asked.

Markus searched around the armory of the training hall until he’d located an iron glaive. It wasn’t his weapon, which was still in need of a repair—one he needed to sort out today—but it was still a weapon he could use.

The iron glaive actually felt a bit lighter than his Malichor Blade. The weapon was difficult to control, at least until its passive became active, and despite the many benefits the malichor usually conferred, Markus wasn’t sure just how many he could actually utilise right now. 

For a simple test of his strength and skill, this simple glaive would do the trick just fine.

[Iron Glaive equipped. Weapon Grade: unknown.]

[Attune this weapon to an essence?]

He was given the option as usual when picking up a new weapon to imbue it with a type of mana. He had a ton of varieties available, but Markus wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to do this step as he usually did. 

He selected Spirit Mana, as it was usual go-to, but the moment the option was locked in, he felt a blast of static in his hands and almost dropped the glaive to the ground.

The metal blade glowed blue for a second, but it wasn’t etched with nearly as many lines or symbols as usual. After a few moments, another text box appeared.

[Channel interrupted. Partial attunement achieved. Try again?]

Markus selected ‘yes’ and tried again with a lower grade of Spirit Mana. Maybe what he’d been using was too much for the weapon, or for himself.

He had better luck with the F-Grade stuff. The symbols in the blade finished carving themselves and setting, and beneath his sudden pain and disorientation, Markus felt some kind of innate connection to the weapon.

It was nowhere near his link with his own glaive, but it was something. It made the process incredibly worthwhile.

“You about ready?”

Markus looked out to Cyrus, who had been waiting with his sword and axe drawn the entire time as Markus struggled to push mana into his weapon. 

Markus nodded, and Cyrus stepped forwards and dulled both of their weapons. It was a skill that Markus still needed to learn. 

“I wanna test my Essence Drain skill on you,” Markus warned Cyrus before either of them had moved. “Is that okay with you?”

“Test what you like,” Cyrus grunted, pulling himself into a duelling stance as he spoke. 

There was no more talking. Cyrus advanced before Markus had a chance to, forcing him onto the backfoot and making him have to deflect and block with every ounce of strength he could muster just to stay on his feet.

Markus aimed a kick at Cyrus’ calf, hoping to stagger him and build some breathing room, but the orc was solid and barely flinched even as the strike landed true. 

He yanked Markus’ glaive free from his left hand using the back of his axeblade, forcing him to hold it in his right as he swung directly for Markus’ shoulder with his outstretched sword. 

Markus tried to deflect the sword with his left arm and ended up smashing into it with his injured forearm. The blade chinged off of his numb arm, pushing Cyrus’ sword away, and, sensing a moment of vulnerability, Markus brought about his glaive and aimed a slash across the orc’s belly.

Cyrus was just about able to jump back in time, but Markus had started to make a realisation already.

That part of his arm that he’d numbed by trying to cast ice magic over and over, that Frost Mana seemed to still be trapped there. It was making his forearm more durable, almost acting like an ice bracer. 

He tried to incorporate it into his future movements, bringing it up to block between strikes, but Cyrus wised up to the new tool at Markus’ disposal quickly, beginning to aim for his triceps instead.

Markus was used to being able to bring mana to different parts of his body to block or weather pain. Not only that, but he was used to being able to constantly heal off of enemies. 

His lack of either of those abilities was causing him to realise just how consistently he got hit—and hurt—by someone as powerful as Cyrus, and, like it or not, it was beginning to wear him down. His stamina wasn’t at the same level by any margin. 

He needed to find a way to use his most important skill if he was going to keep up with Cyrus long-term. Fortunately, Markus knew just how to make an opening.

He blocked a few more strikes and then failed to catch one. The axe smashed against his chest, and even in his winded state, crumpling forwards, Markus grabbed his hands around Cyrus’ wrist and held on tight.

Cyrus tried to bat Markus away with the pommel of his sword, but Markus only persisted. Markus could tell that Cyrus was holding back a fair deal, but even with that being the case, he was still stronger and more durable. Markus was beginning to doubt that this strategy would even work for him at all when all of a sudden, a prompt appeared on his scree

[Prolonged contact established. Would you like to drain this creature’s essence?]

Just what he’d been looking for. Markus mentally selected ‘yes’ and began to drain Cyrus of his mana, feeling energy flow into him and his fatigue heal itself even as Cyrus continued to pummel at his shoulder with the hilt of his sword.

Somehow, it almost seemed as if this wasn’t triggering his Toxicosis at all. As if Essence Drain itself existed in exception to it. He felt no dizziness from initiating the drain, nor any pain from the mana that was suddenly beginning to fill up his core.

Cyrus eventually punched Markus, managing to dislodge him long enough that he could kick him away, but that taste of power was all that Markus truly needed. He was back on his feet and full of energy within seconds, ready to take on his sparring partner once again.

If he could get his hands on someone, he could still heal his fatigue, even his wounds. He wasn’t sure if the rate was impacted, and if there was any new limits on how much he could pull off with the ability, but the fact it was available to him at all was massive.

That said, he had to be careful about entering Overcharge. Putting new mana into his body and not having many ways to easily spend it made the prospect of further Mana Poisoning and the worsening of his symptoms a very real concern. That meant he needed to prioritise refining his manaless abilities and finding ways to actually cast over using Essence Drain as a crutch of some kind.

“You find out what you want to?” Cyrus asked, stretching out and cracking his elbows as he spoke.

“Yeah.” Markus nodded. He felt a smile forming as he readied himself to fight once again.

If anything, Markus looked forward to the challenge. The idea of having to improve himself to such a degree that he could win fights like this without Essence Drain, or any other bullshit tricks, meant he’d be an absolute powerhouse when he did use them. He’d practice moderation in his sparring, learn his limits, then let it all loose on the battlefield and shoot right past them once again.

Markus was the one to advance first this time. He’d found that the momentum in his motions as well as being the initiator was an important key to gaining a tempo advantage in a fight. That said, moving too fast could create weaknesses, and Markus quickly found himself overstepping on the offensive and having his feet swept out from under him. 

He threw himself back to his feet, determined not to make the same mistake twice.

He made the mistake twice. And three times, and four. But on the fifth time, he learned, and was able to push against Cyrus and keep him on the backfoot without getting his legs stolen away from beneath his feet.

This time, he was even able to land a couple of blows against Cyrus’ arms and legs. The powerful orc moved in a flurry to attempt to keep pace with Markus, who, despite the lack of his Malichor Frenzy, constantly felt he was ramping up in a fight the longer he kept going, used to being on the offensive and familiar with the sensation of delivering rapidfire attacks.

Still, it wasn’t long until Markus went for a rushed strike and ended up being disarmed for his efforts. He tried to fish his glaive off of the ground before it clattered, but Cyrus stamped his foot over it and then delivered a strike to the side of Markus’ neck.

“Ow…”

Yeah, even with the dulled blades, that one fucking hurt. Markus could tell he pulled most of the force out of the strike before it hit him, but that didn’t matter. 

Markus twisted his neck from side to side, attempting to stretch his way through the pain, but Cyrus held his hand up and suggested they stop for a minute.

Markus wasn’t opposed to the idea of an intermission. He took his new collection of scrapes and bruises over to one of the nearby benches and sat down, replaying the fight up until now in his mind.

He wasn’t sure how much of his strength Cyrus was using, but he was at least sure it was a double-digit percentage. 

Markus would easily be able to deal with this version of him if he had his weapon, plus full access to his usual skills. But honestly, Markus wasn’t a huge fan of that knowledge. He felt like he should be able to put up a good fight with any weapon and just a small amount of mana, not have to rely on endless skills and passives and gear to get the job done right.

Of course, that feeling was relative, and Markus recognised that others fought with every advantage they could get, too, but that didn’t change the fact that he didn’t want to be reliant upon his special abilities.

Maybe that’s the part he skipped when he went and killed a bunch of enemies and levelled a bunch of times so soon after arriving—refining his core. 

“Hey,” Markus started, looking over at Cyrus. He was pacing around the edge of the training arena, expression indescernable. “How much of your growth would you say was the result of training, compared to actual combat?”

“I’d only attribute about a quarter of my growth to actual fighting,” Cyrus said. “The time I spent improving myself and keeping up with Maesha and her disciples between fights was a much more significant factor for me.”

Markus nodded. For him, it was likely the other way around. He could likely attribute a vast majority of his growth until now as the direct results of combat.

“That said, I don’t drain my enemies or devour their cores,” Cyrus noted. “I imagine that things are quite different for you.”

That was true. Markus often forgot that a good deal of his level increases had come from taking the vitality and mana right out of whatever enemy had been placed in front of him.

He supposed it made sense that he shot up in levels so fast. What that didn’t account for was whether his body could directly handle all of that power, nor utilise it effectively.

Markus wanted to grow not only his stamina and endurance, but his mana capacity. He knew dumping some points into Con right now might make him that bit harder to cut or bruise, and might even make him be able to run or swing a sword longer, but it wouldn’t have the same effect as teaching himself to deal with those things and forging his body and soul into true instruments of combat.

Markus pulled a superior health potion out of his all new [Inventory] as well as a skin of water. 

He was still getting used to having an inventory, but it was fucking dope. He could basically select anything which appeared in a little box within the menu, then put his hand straight through the screen into a liminal space where he could grab onto it and pull it straight out into the physical world.

He wasn’t sure exactly how it worked. He didn’t know if it was a pocket dimension, or an imperceptible space, or what, and right now, he wasn’t going to question it. He was just glad he didn’t have to lug shit around anymore.

He also wasn’t sure of the carrying capacity. He was hoping to get a good chance to test its limits soon.

Still, he’d need Abrah for that. Until then…

Markus took a little sip of the superior healing potion and felt the cuts and bruises all over his body immediately beginning to fade. Even his left forearm, which had been numbed by the collection of Frost Mana stuck there, started to feel more responsive, and his wrist moved far easier than it had moments before.

This stuff was seriously fucking potent. Also tasted exactly like a new flavour of Red Bull. He was a massive fan.

He took a health chug of water after, hydrating and beginning to regain his breath properly once he’d drained about a third of the large skin.

He glanced over at Cyrus once more. He’d been about to raise to his feet and ask them to get back to it, but he had an idea.

Quickly, he poured a few drops of the superior healing potion into the waterskin then gave the bag a little shake. Once he’d finished doing so, he offered the skin to Cyrus.

Cyrus shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“You should drink something,” Markus insisted, thrusting the water into Cyrus’ hands. “Stop being difficult about it.”

Cyrus grumbled as he took the waterskin. He pulled the stopper open and then pushed the skin past his tusks and took a long sip.

Just as soon as he’d finished, he gave Markus a strange look. He took another sip, this time slower.

He poured out a small measure of the water. It was bright red.

He threw the skin right at Markus. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Helping?” Markus said as if it were obvious. “I didn’t think you’d realise straight away like that, but—”

“Markus.”

Cyrus looked as if he might genuinely hit him. His face was screwed up into a snarl. His eyes burned directly into Markus’, and his fist was clenched so hard his knuckles were turning white.

Cyrus sighed. He relaxed his posture.

“Why are you so against letting me help you?” Markus dared to ask, almost angry at this point. “It’s not fun for me watching you be in pain. I don’t want you to get really sick because you’re so pigheaded. I want you to get better.”

Cyrus said nothing for a time. He grunted as the large wound around his chest started to recede from a gangrenous yellow to a much more healthy looking pink. Even a few drops seemed to have worked wonders.

“I have never gotten to make my own decisions,” Cyrus said. “I’ve been someone else’s property for all of my life. You just took my decision away from me.”

“I’m sorry,” Markus said, feeling genuine confliction upon hearing that. “I’m sorry that you don’t get to choose things for yourself, but I’d do it again if it meant helping you. A wound like that could kill you. I’m serious. What if you’d gotten sepsis, and your organs had started shutting down?”

Cyrus squinted at Markus. “Have you ever considered that between my status as a slave and my life of killing, I don’t care too much whether or not I die? That dying might be better than spending another day bleeding for them?”

“Yeah, well, I care,” Markus said. “We’re both supposed to get out of here. Prison club, remember?”

“...”

Cyrus seemed to mull over Markus’ words for a good while. For a time, Markus worried he might get angry again.

“I remember what you said,” Cyrus admitted. “And I do remember dreaming of a life beyond all of this.”

“I’m gonna try and get you out soon,” Markus said. “I’ve gotta find a way out of my contract before I can leave, but I’ve got a lot of money right now. I’m pretty sure I could buy your freedom from Drathok. If not, I could probably bribe someone to sneak you out.”

Cyrus shook his head. “No.”

“What? Why?!” Markus rubbed a hand down his face. He couldn’t with this guy. “You just said you wanted a life beyond killing and slavery!”

“I do,” Cyrus nodded, something resembling a smile on his tusked face. “But we’ll leave together. I’m not waiting around for you on the outside.”

“That’s stupid,” Markus argued. “If I die in here, then any deal I make regarding you is—”

“If I drink one of your stupid health potions, will you compromise with me on this?” Cyrus asked.

Markus thought about it for a few moments.

“I’ll… stop complaining about it for at least one day.”

Cyrus grumbled. “Fine. Deal. Hand it over and let’s get back to training. I want to punch you a few more times before lunch.”

Markus did exactly that and return to training they did.

And yes, Markus did get punched multiple times by massive scary orc arms. Couldn’t say he wasn’t warned.

***

Markus made a point of putting his glaive in for repair after realising he didn’t want to go much longer without it. Luckily, once he’d taken it to the smithy, boar man told him that reforging the blade and replacing the handle would only take him a day.

When Markus pulled out his slab of tetricite and asked if he could add some to the blade in time, boar man said he certainly could, but warned Markus that once this metal was bonded to the malichor, it’d be impossible to separate them again.

Markus didn’t see an issue with that. Tetricite and malichor both seemed really useful, and the quantity of them within his weapon still would only take up about a third of the metal, with the majority of its composition still being steel.

When Markus paid him with a writ for his services, boar man looked as if he was going to faint. He hurriedly reminded Markus to write an appropriate amount upon the paper, but Markus just put the max value for the hell of it. 

Why not? It was Randall’s money, after all. Markus could spend as much of it as he wanted. 

Once he’d finished insisting that the boar man take it and worn down the blacksmith’s defences enough, Markus left and spent the rest of the day alternating between physical training and meditation. He’d thought about checking out the library, but he held off for now. He had something he wanted to do first.

He found it difficult to sleep, but eventually, a new day came.

Today was a day for pushing boundaries. It was a day for finding Abrah.

It was a day for returning to the underground.