บท 101: High Heaven II
It's my 100th chapter, which sucks because I already did double chapter for three days. Thank you for sticking with me!
...
The left earring, worth 70 credits, was three concentric circles inside of a silver hoop, held together by a diagonal pin that allowed to spin around whenever he jiggled his head.
It was called Dryad's Remorse and its main ability was to double his Stamina regeneration, but on further usage, he found himself walking calmer and more confident. It was as if something was guiding his body and gait to become more graceful and eloquent.
The right earring, on the other hand, was worth 150 credits, and it had a seven-pointed crimson star wrapped in silver thorns. A cursed artifact, the only one worth it if he was being perfectly honest, that allows him to do two things.
First, it can passively identify the categorical species of creatures with no energy needed, albeit the range is somewhat short with only a thirty-foot reach. For instance, the servants around the castle were considered Creatures and so did the witches. However, if he injected a sliver of his magical energy into the earring through the nerves in his ears, the category would be much more detailed.
[Aeneas - Class 2 Creature]
That was what appeared above the head of the Warlock. Frankly, Irwin did not know whether this ability would be useful and merely bought it because it sounded cool and he liked the second ability.
The cursed artifact's second ability was related to his Flaming Whip. Every time he uses a whip–whether it be physical or temporarily conjured by a spell–it will produce silver thorns along the length of the whole whip–known by few as its thong.
He checked with his Flaming Whip and as soon as he finished the incantation, azure flames flung into existence. Its length was riddled with flaming silver thorns.
Irwin reckoned that his Flaming Whip could now do more damage and its grappling ability would be better.
"So fucking cool. Wonder why the curse is like these? All this powerful ability in exchange for cursing my firstborn son to be the downfall of my family and my firstborn daughter to be barren. What a weird item."
Since he only had 149 credits left, he could not learn Telekinesis, which was worth 70 credits, because he needed the extra credits for the fragmented Angel's Grace. If he was being perfectly honest, he was only going to buy Dryad's Remorse, but he caught sight of the second artifact and his impulse got ahead of him.
It's not like it was going to be that beneficial for the raid. But he made himself remember to buy it the first thing when he had time after the raid.
With all his artifacts and armor equipped, Irwin procured the spells from his Trade Counter and consumed the spell scrolls, allowing its ashes to enter his brain and ingrain the ability to use them in his mind.
A strain of alabaster light illuminated his forehead as an excruciating pain enveloped his whole head, consuming all his hopes and dreams in exchange for greater power. His eyes were swirling with hues of purple and silver, allowing him ephemeral insights into the very nature of reality.
His mind was now a bastion of cosmic knowledge, allowing him to cast spells and engrave sigils into the mortal world so long as he had access to an energy deemed suitable by the universe.
He could not speak Enochian, nor could any being, for doing so would consume his soul. But, at the very least, he had the ability to write it, as the consumption of the spell had given him the exact characters to inscribe if he so wish to activate the spell.
Like a seasoned shaman, Irwin took out the kitchen knife Aeneas gave him earlier and sliced his right palm. Taking off his shirt, he began inscribing the Iron Spirit Ward upon his chest.
The very instance his blood dampened his skin, a searing pain was invoked within the depths of his very being. Luckily for him, the combination of Pain Tolerance and Natural Resistance had lessened the pain to a great degree and, thus, allowed him to procure a fragmented Angel's Grace into his left hand.
The globule of holy light emanating from the item was released in streaks as it traveled down his left arm to his shoulders and at the tips of his bloodied fingertips. It acted as celestial paint, drawing on a mortal canvas that is Irwin's body.
For a moment, the Angel's Grace dimmed, having spent half of its power energizing his fingertips as he completed his work of art. The searing pain caused a visible physical reaction as the blood dried up into a puff of smoke and left behind a scar of sigils embedded within his skin, bones, and his very soul.
Now that he had time to realize the folly of his actions, Irwin grunted in pain as he felt the Angel's Grace in his hand was burning him as if he was holding onto the sun. He feared that dropping it would further cause damage, so Irwin merely continued on with his plan and began inscribing the floor with sigils used for Enochian Transmission Sigil.
In the next few seconds, Irwin formed a circle full of Enochian characters as the Angel's Grace forward from one arm to the other, all the while muttering, "Ow, ow, ow, fucking, ow, fucking bitch. Fuck me, ow, ow, ow…"
At last his pain had come to an end, at least for a few moments, as the last bit of the Grace entered into the characters and light erupted out of the sigils, illuminating the whole room with a heavenly aura.
He gritted his teeth and prayed to the heavens. "Heavenly father, I am basking in your glory… Please allow me to speak upon one of your more favored children… I request an audience with the Serap known as Zachariah!"
A peal of thunder resounded across the room, causing Irwin's ears to bleed and ring from the sheer proximity, which was impossible since they were confined within the basement of the Castle. A whole twenty feet deep beneath the mountain.
It was as if a portal to Heaven had opened up as a being that emitted pressure far greater than Dagon had appeared before his eyes. He had to close his eyes, however, as the mere silhouette of the descending angel nearly burned his retina to dust.
From what he could see before he closed his eyes, the being stood as tall as the mountain he stood on. It had four faces, albeit blurry and overshadowed by the intense light, with one of them having this golden mane.
"SPEAK, CHILD!"
Zachariah spoke. His short and careful words lay contrast the soul-deafening tone it took as it reached Irwin's soul. He knew the only reason he was able to hear or even think of responding was that the spell provided a medium for the both of them without overlapping their existence into each other.
"I have news, Angel of the Lord. One of your own, whose name is Barchiel, has been captured by the Prince of Hell, Dagon!" He yelled into the light.
"THAT NEWS IS MOST TROUBLING! YOUR FAITH SHALL BE REWARDED AND A GARRISON WILL BE…"
Irwin cursed their apathy silently, although he had already expected them not to care about their brethren. As such, he spoke once more.
"Dagon tortures Barchiel, my lord. She seeks the names of all the prophets!" His rehearsed lies flowed out of his mouth, etching his very soul to condemn Dagon for her crimes as to fool the angel before him. "Barchiel is nearing his limits. I plead with you, break free–"
A wave of heavenly light pulsed through the air, knocking Irwin off his feet as he was sent tumbling down until crashing against the wall of the basement. His eyes blurred from the pain, blood dripping down the side of his forehead.
He wanted to speak again, but the blow had severed his concentration of the spell and the light, the angel, and his credits vanished before his eyes.
Irwin steadied his breath as he rested his head against the wall. Conversing with an angel of Zachariah's caliber, even with multiple skills and spells as a barrier, was as treacherous as fighting against Dagon.
He was but an overgrown flower, weathering a storm against Zachariah's true form. Still, he had accomplished half of goals when the call ended. Now all he had to do was wait, for, surely, they would care about the well-being of a Prophet, even if they were under the protection of an Archangel.
As if responding to his thoughts, the mountain side shook with great intensity. The light within the chamber flickered in and out of existence as the various sigils and wards surrounding the castle strained against an enigmatic power.
Like a fuselage leaking, the sound of thunder clapping near Irwin's ear disoriented him and forced him to shut most of his senses before it could do any more damage.
"Ah, there we are! Damn heathens and their spells." A voice sighed in condemnation, a tone bearing ill will and condescension.
Irwin opened his eyes to see a man in a black suit staring at him. The man had balding hair, tiny weasely eyes, and a look of utter apathy boring into the living world.
"Lord Zachariah?" He mumbled.
"It is I, mortal. Taking on a mortal form. Now, let us not taste my patience. Say what you want to say regarding Barchiel." The angel ordered.
Irwin nodded and accepted that he needed to play the part of a pious man. "You see, I am a hunter of sorts and I came across this information when I exorcised a demon. Dagon has built a sanctuary–"
"Yes, yes, we know about that. Get to the good stuff." Zachariah rolled his eyes, hurrying him along.
"My apologies." Irwin bowed his head, not daring to look Zachariah in the eyes in fear that it would set off the fickle angel. "The demon named the other prophets Chuck Shurley, Kevin Tran, Luigi Ponzo–"
"–Aaron Webber, Maria Gonzalez, Dennis Adams!" A clap of thunder echoed around Zachariah as a shadow took form behind him, revealing his wings in full view of a mortal. "Damn demons! The Garrisons are already full with missions and the boss still wants me to find the source of the divine might. Do I need to transfer some from Cell Duty? No, that would be…"
Seeing Zachariah speak to himself as if Irwin was not there, the latter sighed in relief. It was then that he heard a peculiar question arising from the angel.
"What do they intend to do with an incomplete list? Could they be preparing to renege and set up an advance party?"
Irwin hastily gazed up and asked a question, "My lord, forgive me, but what do you mean by an incomplete list?"
Zachariah gazed back at Irwin, his eyes a beacon of shining light. "You must have misheard the demon, mortal. There is no Chuck Shurley on the list."
●●●●●
I don't know if I what I have created is good enough for this, but if you ever want more:
patreon.com/MillanGrimme
It's five (5) chapters ahead of this site.
สถานะพลังงานรายสัปดาห์
-- การจัดอันดับด้วยพลัง 
-- หินพลัง