There was likely some cognitive disconnect within me that made me think walking into the front doors of a palace was a good idea. It was definitely a broken part of my brain. For a moment there, I felt like the main character of a fantasy novel, but I have been quickly reminded that I am actually the butt of cruel jokes played by the gods.

Upon entering the palace, my ability to speak got me no further than the main door. Immediate debilitating pain did as excruciating agony does and incapacitated me. Like a molten hot knife of acid pressed directly onto the pain centre of my brain.

Debuff

Incapacitated

You are paralyzed and unable to cast spells.

I retched, unable to speak or form coherent thoughts. Noise erupted around me but it was irrelevant in the face of the oblivion within my mind. I could feel movement but, even as the psychic spike of pain faded, my limbs were rubbery and weak. I was easily lifted, still unable to see or hear with any clarity. Even my mana felt wrong, like sandpaper being pulled through my core.

I couldn’t hold a grudge over this. On thinking, which I had lots of time to do once I awoke in a cage, I definitely should have done something to prepare these people for my arrival. The room was clearly a prison, but to add to that, I was additionally held in a box. This was far from ideal, but there were options. For some reason, I had not been bound further. Tying my arms and wings would have been more effective than the cage, surely.

“You live and learn.” I said out loud, hoping that the first part held true so that the second could come to fruition. I would learn not to trust anybody ever again, the elves would learn the errors of their ways. Once I calmed down, I might analyse the lessons here more closely.

“Supposedly.” Came a startlingly clear, close reply to my words. Shame filled me as I squawked, jumping at the sound. Whoever it was, I hadn’t seen, heard or smelled them at all when I looked around. The room was empty, wasn’t it? The reason why my senses had been fooled quickly became clear as a silvery figure slipped around and through the bars of my temporary prison. “Though, I never did.”

I tried. I tried so hard to act nonplussed. Everything I had met so far seemed to be unflappable, knowledgeable. I had been floundering like an idiot, hoping that things worked out and running into new things to worry about every day. Ghosts were real, here? That tracked, but it was still something heavy to get your head around.

“Shejibuhuwah?” Like I said, I tried.

“No, no,” the ghost said, “elvish will do nicely, none of that dragon gibberish if you please.” The ghost was wearing a very fine set of clothing, though it was dirty and ripped in places. He carried himself as a noble would, made even easier by the fact that he could lounge in mid-air. “Word through the castle was that there was a new toy for Donna in the dungeon and I wanted to see what the fuss was about.”

“Donna?” I was no one’s toy. Absolutely not. Focusing on that piece of information, I regained composure. “Donna is one of the two queens?” Two or three weeks. That was all the time I had spent in this world, and it was so much more intricate than I had thought it would be.

“Oh, yes,” the ghost, which was clearly elfen, changed his tone upon my question. I had the sense that it was quite a lonely creature. “Bella and Donna, twin rulers of Remula. Fascinating pair.”

“So I’ve heard. And I’m to be the pet of one? That sounds… luxurious.” A sprinkle of charm next to a question can make you forget you’re being interrogated. I think I saw that in a cop movie once. The ghost, however, seemed not to agree. He inspected me with a clear look of pity.

“Hurmmm,” the ghost made a noise of noncommittal agreement, “it could be. You look sturdy, so… possibly.” I didn’t love the sound of that.

“I’m Izaark by the way.” I stuck my hand through the bar. I knew the ghost couldn’t shake it, but I hoped the gesture would be recognised at least. I needed to know more. To my relief, the ghost also reached out, and with a freezing wave, his hand passed through mine. I ignored the sensation and smiled, bobbing my hand to mimic shaking his. “Your name?”

“I have to say it is a pleasure, Izaark. You’d be amazed at how few prisoners are willing to talk to me.” I really wouldn’t. There were ragged rope burns around the ghost’s throat. His face was battered and destroyed, hair fallen away in clumps. One elfen ear was still attached. Dragged by horses by the neck? “My manners evaded me, I am Hemlock Sherlain.”

The ghost bowed and his neck seemed to have no control over his head, it lolled from side to side but the spectre’s eyes never left mine. I decided right there that I hated ghosts, but I could choose not to hate this one. “Hemlock, pleasure. What would you say is the best way out of here?” I began to channel my mana but that sandpaper feeling was still there.

Opening my status page, the cause for that was clear. Sat firmly next to my HP in bold letters it said “silenced”. Clearly that wasn’t literal, or I wouldn’t be having a conversation with a ghost, but I could parse the terminology. No spells right now for whatever reason.

“Out of the cage or out of the palace? You probably need to do both, I’d imagine. Neither has a particularly simple solution.”

No problem, my brain may be mightier than my brawn, but I was no weakling any more. The cage I found myself in was made of stone I didn’t recognise. It had blue veins of minerals running through it’s dark yellow rock. Surrounding me were four walls of bars. Above and below were solid stone panels, no gaps. Perfect. The whole enclosured space probably measured about six by six feet. More than enough room.

Tell Hemlock to back up, before realising it wasn’t really relevant, I moved to the back of the cage. “What is your plan?” If possible, the ghost’s eyes might have been gleaming as he spoke.

“This.” I was in the corner, back left to give it a direction, and holding the bar. Using the cage itself as leverage I threw myself with all the force I could muster. My standing jump would probably be impressive. As it was, I hit the other - still stone - bars and stole my own breath with the impact. It had the desired effect, but I had to scramble to avoid the fall.

The cage toppled. It wasn’t enough to break the bars, which Hemlock noticed and claimed my plan a failure. That was just step one though. I moved to the panel which used to be at the bottom of the cage. I looked at my health quickly, and saw that I had taken some damage from the previous tackle. Only 21 of my total 326, but my shoulder didn’t seem to care that it was “only” a fraction of my health total. This was going to suck.

Not willing to focus on how easy this would be if I could use Enhance, I gritted my teeth and tense my muscles yet again. Same basic plan. The top would come off at some point. For some reason, I thought of an old monster battler game from Earth and wondered if those creatures tried to escape like this.

Izaark, use tackle. I didn’t have breath in myself to chuckle at the stupid joke. It had no effect. That was a poor punchline, but it was the truth. The cage itself had moved on the stone floor of the prison, causing a second collision with the wall as the cage collided with it.

Seeing no point in throwing myself into the opposite wall at the moment, and really feeling the additional loss of 30 more HP, I sat on the now even more uncomfortable bottom of my cage. My MP had been sitting at 0 this whole time, and even an hour later there was no change.

“I might have mentioned you’re in an enchanted cage of nulcite. Sturdier than a giant, usually. Drains mana and such from the living.”

“Yes,” I couldn’t help myself from snapping, “you might have mentioned that.”

————————————————————————

“Oh calm down, you’re fine.” The simurgh wasn’t in any pain, but was definitely licking its wounds. Whatever danger the creature may have been, it hadn’t done any more than hurt Cyrus’ pride. “It’s gone now anyway.”

The drow was biting his lip fiercely, wishing he hadn’t chosen to stop chewing smokeleaf. It all felt strange. The actual trail of reports that he had followed said that actually, the little thing was quite helpful. The denizens of Remula were a little shocked, but none of them were demanding the creature’s head.

Which was almost a shame, because then Abrus might not feel like he did. “I mean,” Cyrus looked at him with his large brown eyes as he postulated, “it’s not like I sent him to the palace myself… And it’s definitely not like we could have stopped him, right?”

Of course, the huge winged hound could not answer, but Abrus was glad for the warmth of his friend’s snout as Cyrus nuzzled him.

————————————————————————

It was clearly all an elaborate trick. This was hell. I died along with earth and for my punishment, I was lured to Donna.

“I said no.” Her voice was as crystal as the imagined needle in my eye. I managed not to whimper this time, but exposure to the pain seemed to have no effect on it’s efficacy.

Donna Verisidae, the twin who was born a high elf, was considered the fairest of all the elves. Her strand of her golden hair was said to be worth more than bars of gold. Once a year, at lavish cost, she ate a meal with a suitor. These men were said to be left broken by proximity, often withering away, unable to eat, lamenting that she would not be across the table from them.

Whatever they had seen, I had not.

Finding my cage askew, the guards grumbled. In an act of rebellion, I had made sure the cage door was on the bottom. It didn’t bother them for long, but it did earn me a hard kick to the ribs. As they removed me from the cage, my heart leapt. I could feel my mana move like it was supposed to. It was like getting a deep breath for the first time in hours. Which was then quickly stifled, this time by a pair of handcuffs. Precautions against magic users were prudent measures, and clearly well understood in this world, to no surprise.

From the prison, I was taken through the palace. The guards were very strong. I wondered if maybe they were using a spell like my own Enhance. I paid attention as I was taken, keeping my bearings and tracking my own position as best I could. It was similar to being in the caves if I focused. Seven floors up, about eight hundred feet forward and then the fifth door on the right. Easy.

I was fixating on those directions now as I remained entirely still. The high elf queen held the scalpel again and I couldn’t stop the shiver.

“Why?” She was going to hurt me whether I spoke or not. I needed to know. Over the past hour or so, Donna had been skinning me alive. Taking a large chunk of scale and muscle with a sharp knife before casting healing magic to repair the damage. Healing magic and pain magic. The agony caused by her mana tore through my brain again, her magic was evil. I could feel the essence of it tugging through my grey matter. It didn’t do actual damage, it “only” caused the pain receptors to flare. Torturous and horrible, I still found something to latch on to.

I could sense the magic.

I couldn’t use my own magic but I could feel her’s, separate to my core. Like a worm, wriggling through my fingers, her mana slithered away each time. However there was a feeling, growing with each exposure to the spell. A revelation that I was close to if I could just get my claws into it. Maybe not right on the cusp of a breakthrough, but close enough to see the possibility.

It was only that though… a possibility. Nothing in the system messages hinted that I could, yet it was my only hope. I remained quiet the next time she cut me, my teeth felt like they were going to snap off from the pressure of my jaw. Then she started whistling and I couldn’t take it.

“Nasty bitch.” I wasn’t sure if there was a one to one translation in elvish, but the point seemed to get across. The searing brand on my consciousness reappeared along with a furious expression on the elf queen’s face. I had no moment of peace after that. In brief moments of clarity, usually full of expletives, I wondered at her mana capacity. At least she wasn’t killing me. Maybe that made the ability less costly.

Every time she jabbed with the thought-smashing knife of her spell, I tried to grasp it with the slick, bloody feeling tendrils of my own mana. The onslaught made me dazed. She must have taken eighty pounds of flesh, and I only started with about forty. I couldn’t let this go on. For all I knew she could do this forever.

Focus. Hate her. Exist in the hatred and let it clear the haze.

I didn’t take a deep, calming breath or find my centre or anything like that. The abuse didn’t allow for that. Instead I counted every gasped breath. I lost count constantly, and consciousness on occasion. The room was becoming a macabre orrery of my pieces and parts as she chopped them off to regrow.

You let it happen, idiot. Thoughts like those slipped in amongst the lashes of pain. Admonishment. Small portions of self-loathing which I quelled with fury. No. I wouldn’t do this to my worst enemy. This thing is broken.

I obsessed. I bent every thought around the feeling of her mana, the cruel, icy length of barbed magic that tore at my sanity. Had it been days? Weeks? It felt like years. With horror, I worried that maybe it had only been a few minutes.

Focus.

I counted the pairs of wings she pulled off me to focus my mind. Five. Five pairs. My wings.

The dragon within had been quiet for a while, appeased. The latest turn of events had brought forth that prideful part of me. This would not stand - could not stand. Enough. FOCUS.

“Will you taste like dirt like the other elves I’ve eaten, or do you think the drow in you will change your flavour a bit?” Damn. She’d turned me edgy. That made me doubly hate her. Our barbs had progressed from simple profanity. I actually suspected she was enjoying the various insults I threw, but I couldn’t help myself from spouting them anyway.

“Smart mouth,” she said, her voice like rust, raspy and harsh, “which reminds me.” She slashed the sides of my mouth, so I spat the blood that began to pool towards her. An exceptionally agile dodge, which even I was impressed with, allowed her to avoid the crimson spray. I had noticed that when she was already up close to me, she didn’t bother with her torture spell. Making her exert effort? That got the hot iron.

Which was perfect because I was finally there. My intuition confirmed, I didn’t bother reading the prompt explaining my new ability. I could feel it. It wasn’t given to me by some wheel of fortune, but something I earned. Now, it was something that would let me take.

I pulled on her mana as it reached inside my brain. I felt my being cling to the outside force and heaved. Like the brief moment I had been taken out of the cage, before the nulcite handcuffs had been placed on me, I felt that fresh air again. A whole core full of mana jumped from her into me, and I acted on it instantly.

I exploded with all of my spells at once.

The nulcite disintegrated as my Forceful Rebuke tore the twisted room apart. I was able to dodge the shrapnel as Enhance increased my capabilities to their current maximum. I felt the pain begin to claw back at me but I yanked the whip away again and refilled my mana. I held back my fire for one reason. It might end this too quickly, and I had some stuff to work out.

————————————————————————

“Wait here, Cy.” Abrus patted the massive wet nose of the simurgh, leaving him in the stable nearest to the palace. Flying wasn’t allowed in the vicinity of the Eradix Araeneae, palace of the spider queens. It was an old law, from the time when an actual spider goddess lived within the castle. Those old webs had hardened and then been shored up over time.

The palace was gorgeous, but had always held a sinister shadow within.

Abrus had known about this generation of ruler’s fault, just as clearly as any who paid attention did. Queen Donna’s proclivity for corporal punishment was legendary. A truly poisonous flower, to hear it told.

After following the trail backwards, Abrus had found only that the kobold was a helpful, even somewhat charming individual. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he arrived at the palace, but… he had to try something. He should have warned the creature. It had become a blur of speed almost as soon as it disengaged but Abrus wished he had shouted out.

He didn’t want that gnawing on him for the rest of his life. Something about the creature felt special. Altissima, a guard he knew from the palace, had some stories that could curl your ears. Well, Abrus’ ears weren’t curled, they were wide open. He couldn’t turn away from the fate of that strange creature, it had intrigued him far too much.

Later, he would often find himself wishing that he had stayed riding Cyrus that day. That he had not gone to massive obsidian black castle. That he had never joined the shadeguard maybe.

Nothing he could do would change the past, or what was coming next.