Chapter 88: Necro Archmagus Grimoire XVI
Veil’s wand flared—
—a thread of violet light lanced forward, thin as a hair and sharp as a scream.
It struck the training dummy square in the chest.
There was no explosion. No shattering.
Just a soft, shivering pop—and the entire dummy folded inward on itself like collapsing paper, leaving behind a drifting puff of cold ash.
The silence afterward was so absolute it felt like the air had forgotten how to breathe.
Aria exhaled slowly. A smile curved across her lips, quiet and dangerous. "...Perfect."
Fenric’s gaze flicked to Veil, then to her, the faintest glint of approval slicing like frost through moonlight. "Controlled. Surgical. Lethal."
Veil lowered its wand with a whisper of cloth, eyes dimming back to that soft steady glow—like coals that had decided to think instead of burn.
Across the room, Laxin’s mage "Oops" had successfully managed to set its own robes, staff, and possibly soul on fire. It was currently spinning in frantic circles, flinging sparks everywhere while shrieking like a kettle possessed by regret.
"STOP—DROP—ROLL—" Laxin yelled, running after it in small frantic hops.
The flaming skeleton tripped over its own spine, faceplanted, and kept screaming while lying perfectly still like a very dramatic corpse—which, to be fair, it was.
Fenric pinched the bridge of his nose again, looking like a saint considering early retirement. "Laxin."
"Y-yes?" Laxin squeaked from beneath the rolling fire hazard.
"Explain," Fenric said, with the tone of a man asking why the sun had been replaced with a chicken.
Laxin froze. "Uh. Spontaneous combustion... is a... tactical choice?"
Aria choked on a laugh. Veil made that disapproving click again, like a skeletal schoolteacher grading on disappointment.
Fenric turned, his voice suddenly soft. Too soft. Like a velvet glove over a guillotine.
"Laxin... extinguish it. Then try again. Or I will."
Laxin’s soul visibly attempted to climb out his ears and flee to a quieter dimension. "Yes, sir! On it! Fixing it right now! No more accidental arson!"
He flailed his hands and somehow managed to douse Oops in a splash of panicked ice mana. The skeleton froze solid mid-scream, then fell over like an overly dramatic popsicle.
"...Progress?" Laxin offered weakly.
"Grim failure," Fenric corrected. "But... less flammable. So, marginally improved."
Aria straightened from her crouch, heart still racing with triumph. "Veil can target weak points. It thinks before casting."
"That," Fenric said, eyes narrowing in satisfaction, "is the difference between power and destruction."
His silver gaze slid back to Laxin. "And you will learn it if it kills you."
"...It’s definitely going to kill me," Laxin muttered.
"Then die efficiently," Fenric replied blandly, already turning away.
Aria hid her grin behind her hand.
Veil, very faintly, smirked.
(Or maybe its skull just tilted in a way that looked smug. Either way, it felt smug.)
Fenric clapped his hands once. The sound cracked like thunder.
"Again. Both of you. Mage-class constructs are the first step. Deathchanters await."
Laxin whimpered. Aria smiled like a spark catching kindling.
Veil raised its wand.
Oops’ frozen jaw fell off.
The training hall thrummed with gathering power—two circles beginning to glow once more, light spinning out in precise rings and chaotic spirals.
The next round had begun.
And this time, one of them was aiming to impress...
...and the other was aiming to survive.
The glyph-circles bloomed again—
Aria’s like a poised rose carved of moonlight.
Laxin’s like a drunken fireworks display fighting for its life.
Mana pressure surged, making the training hall’s walls hum. The braziers flickered nervously, as if reconsidering their career paths.
Aria drew her mana in—smooth, precise, every thread aligned like harp strings. Veil stood perfectly still at the center of her circle, as if meditating inside a storm. Pale violet sparks danced at its wand-tip, pulsing in perfect rhythm to her heartbeat.
Laxin, meanwhile, was audibly narrating his own breakdown.
"Okay, structure first, then mind-link, then robes... probably... oh no the ribs are upside-down again—"
There was a noise like a skeletal hiccup, and something burst from his circle in a gout of green flame and sheer existential doubt.
This one was... marginally better. It had one skull. It was facing the correct direction. It held its staff in the correct hand. Its jaw was only halfway falling off.
Laxin gasped like he’d just witnessed a miracle. "It has symmetry! It’s BEAUTIFUL!"
The mage blinked, raised its staff... and immediately tripped over its own robe hem. The staff clonked off its skull, and the jaw fell off again.
Aria didn’t even blink. "Name it."
Laxin scrambled, panicked. "Uh—uh—Mystic... Bone... Supreme...?"
The skeleton mage paused mid-faceplant, as though offended by the name on a spiritual level.
Fenric’s voice sliced through like cold steel. "It will not respect you if you do not respect it. Name with intention."
Laxin’s panic hiccupped into something quieter. He stared at the awkward thing trying to stand again. It was clumsy, crooked, wrong... but stubborn. Still trying.
"...Clatter," he said finally.
The skeleton froze—then slowly, shakily rose upright. Its eye-flames flickered, just once, as though acknowledging.
Aria’s eyes widened faintly. "...It listened."
Fenric’s silver gaze flicked toward Laxin like a hawk catching movement. "Good."
"Good?!" Laxin squeaked.
"Marginally," Fenric amended. "Do not celebrate mediocrity. Shape it."
"Yes, sir," Laxin whispered, as if speaking any louder might make Clatter collapse out of shame.
Veil turned its skull toward Clatter and tilted it... approvingly. Or at least curiously.
Clatter attempted to return the gesture, but its neck spun halfway around. It quickly spun it back, pretending nothing happened.
"Now," Fenric said, stepping back into the shadows like a disappointed god, "demonstrate control. Each of you—one offensive spell. On my mark."
Aria inhaled, eyes sharp. "Ready."
Laxin nodded, visibly vibrating like a tuning fork.
Fenric raised a hand.
The floor hummed. Mana threads trembled like drawn bowstrings.
"Mark."
Aria’s command was a whipcrack: "Veil. Pierce."
Veil’s wand flared—a razor-thin lance of violet light slicing clean through the training dummy’s heart. The impact made no sound at all, just left a perfect, smoking hole. The dummy sagged like an empty coat.
Laxin swallowed. "Clatter... do the thing."
Clatter lifted its staff. Slowly. Carefully. Mana crackled at the tip like a hesitant match.
Then it sneezed.
A wobbling green fireball launched sideways and blasted a support column, which immediately caught on fire.
"...Directionally challenged, but enthusiastic," Laxin offered faintly.
Fenric’s gaze could have frozen lava. "Precision."
"Yes sir," Laxin squeaked, already sprinting to put out the fire with his bare panic.
Aria stood tall, proud, Veil’s violet eyes gleaming like twin shards of silent moonlight.
Fenric folded his arms, voice calm as a glacier. "Acceptable progress. Barely. Again."
Laxin flopped onto his knees, arms flailing. "AGAIN?! It just set architecture on fire!"
"Then this time," Fenric said, "aim for the enemy instead of the building."
"...You say that like it’s easy," Laxin muttered.
"It is," Fenric replied with absolute serenity.
Aria tried not to smile as Veil spun its wand like a duelist preparing for an elegant murder.
Clatter, still slightly smoldering, shakily raised its staff in grim determination.
The third round was about to begin.
The air in the training hall stilled, the last curls of smoke from the scorched pillar fading into silence.
Fenric’s boots clicked once against the stone floor—a small sound, but somehow it echoed like a judge’s gavel.
"Enough practice," he said.
Laxin froze mid-fire-extinguishing with a charred rag in his hand. "...Enough as in ’we stop’ or ’we die’?"
"Neither."
Fenric’s silver gaze swept between them like a blizzard selecting its target.
"Dueling protocol. Mage versus mage."
Aria straightened as if someone had lit a fuse behind her. Veil turned its skull, calm as moonlight on glass. Its violet eyes gleamed.
Laxin’s face went pale, then green, then possibly theoretical.
"W-we’re doing what—"
"You will not improve by aiming at walls," Fenric said smoothly. "Walls do not retaliate."
"Yeah well NEITHER SHOULD BONES," Laxin hissed under his breath.
"Circle reset," Fenric ordered, stepping back with hands clasped behind him like an imperial auditor awaiting a spreadsheet. "Combat formation. Begin on my signal. Lethal force permitted, structural damage not."
Aria’s heart thrummed. "Veil. Formation Delta."
Veil glided into place, staff raised, runes spinning around its wrist like slow orbiting moons.
Laxin gulped. "...Clatter, uh... do the pose."
Clatter snapped upright, spun its staff, tripped over its own foot, caught itself, and posed like an arthritic battle ballerina.
Fenric lifted his hand. "Mark."
The world snapped.
Veil vanished in a blur of shadow-thread. A violet bolt cracked across the space like a whip. Clatter yelped—well, made a noise like two coconuts colliding—and flung up a wobbling shield of green fire.
The bolt struck. The shield held... mostly.
It exploded in a shower of ghostly sparks, blasting Clatter backwards into a roll. Its jaw flew off midair. It caught it, slapped it back on, and stumbled upright with sheer indignation.
Laxin pumped a fist. "Yes! Clatter, retaliation pattern... uh... improvise!"
Clatter shrieked a war-cry that sounded like dry cutlery fighting, then fired three chaotic fireballs in three completely different directions.
One hit the ceiling, one scorched the floor, and the third screamed past Veil’s skull like a green comet.
Veil didn’t flinch. It simply pivoted, runes orbiting faster now, and extended one bony finger.
A violet ring unfolded around Clatter’s feet.
"Oh no," Laxin breathed.
"Root bind," Aria commanded.
Violet energy shot upward like thorned vines—clamping Clatter’s legs to the floor.
Clatter screeched and flailed. Its staff spun out of its hand, bonked it on the skull, and clattered (appropriately) to the ground.
Fenric’s voice cut through the chaos like a razor. "Finish."
Aria’s eyes sharpened. "Veil. Disarm."
Veil flicked its wrist. A crackling pulse shot out, hit Clatter square in the ribcage, and neatly severed its mana-thread connection.
Its eye flames winked out. The skeleton slumped into a harmless pile of bones.
The silence afterward was loud.
Then Laxin very quietly said, "...I hate my bones."
Fenric’s expression did not change, but the faintest hint of approval brushed the edge of his tone.
"Aria: functional. Laxin: catastrophic, but alive. Again."
"AGAIN?!" Laxin howled, voice cracking like a distressed tea kettle.
Clatter’s skull rolled in a small sad circle at his feet, as if even it was judging him.
Veil floated serenely, eyes glowing like twin coins of moonfire.