Chapter 25

The white marble Spire still dominated the horizon, the structure rising like a mountain, towering over the earth. But its pristine surface was now marred by black marks. Streaks of soot and grey ash covered its outer walls. The stained-glass windows were mostly gone, the intense heat from the flames melting some, shattering many others.

Where there were once green, well-kept lawns, now, little remained but blackened field. Nothing was left of its once lush grasses, the fire had spread far from the main structure, consuming life here as well.

The leafy green bushes were now burnt twigs, the white pathway covered in a thick layer of ash, with more still falling gently from above, like a grey snowfall.

Even a day later, cinders fell from some of the Spire’s many windows, the fires still smoldering within. In the dim morning light, bright sparks could be seen, gently floating overhead.

In the distance, a man slowly walked down the path towards the tower, leaving a trail of footprints in the thick ashes. Dressed in simple black shirt and trousers, he wore a thick, fur cloak over his thin torso, and a leather bag slung from one shoulder.

Wil walked with his head bowed, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other as even the simple act of walking forward was exhausting to him. Even the short distance to the tower from where the Clockwork Owl had dropped him off seemed insurmountable, but he pressed on.

To anyone who knew him, he would be unrecognizable as he was now. His once handsome face was drawn and pale, his cheeks sunken, with large, black bags under his eyes. His black hair was matted and lank, with hints of grey streaks running through it.

He had never been muscular, but his time in Aachen had packed on layers of muscle, but that was gone now. Wil was unhealthily thin, his ribs sticking out prominently from his torse.

But if his body was weak and feeble, him mana was strong and fierce.

He could feel it wrap around him protectively. The trials of yesterday’s battle had pushed it further, reaching the boundary to Rank 6. He was just a hair away from progressing.

But with that increase of power, came a restlessness to his magic. It wanted to rage, and he had to keep a tight rein on it. He almost looked forward to the coming confrontation, he was too tired to keep a lid on the magic within him much longer.

Pushing on, Wil came to the door of the Spire. The ebony wood had withstood the flames, but where they were tightly closed yesterday, the heavy doors now stood ajar.

Running his hands across the smooth wood, leaving a trail in the ash that had gathered on the surface, Wil pushed open the well-balanced doors, entering the Spire once again.

The day before, when he had first arrived, the main level of the Spire was filled to the brim with knowledge. Books, ledgers, and parchments overflowed bookshelves and tables. It had been so full that he had to careful weaving his way through the stacks. The white marble floor had been barely visible through the clutter.

This morning found a very different scene to greet his eyes. The floors, walls and even the ceiling were black with soot and scorch marks. The windows shattered, colorful glass strewn on the ground, where the shards were barely visible through the thick layer of ash.

The worst was the damage to the books. The fire had ravaged everything, not a single scrap of paper had made it through the inferno. Blackened bookshelves hung empty from the walls, most nearly destroyed, mere remnants of the grand furniture that the Spire once held.

The air was thick with the smell of smoke, each gust of wind blowing through the gaping windows sent clouds of ash and smoke swirling.

Holding a cloth over his mouth and nose, Wil gingerly made his way to the staircase, eager to leave the destruction he had caused behind.

The staircase, thankfully made of wrought iron, survived the fire relatively unscathed, although the intense heat had even warped some of the banisters, the straight metal twisted and warped in places.

The second floor was in a similar state the first, as were all the ones after. It wasn’t until he reached the seventh floor, the location of his intense battle with the Fat Man, that things had changed.

Contrary to all logic, the fire had burned Downwards, not up. Wil attributed it to some quirk of the ‘inner realm’.

The seventh floor was untouched by the flames, in a similar state as he had last seen it. The Fat Man had devoured most of the books here before Wil had arrived, he could only find scattered pages, and a few chewed upon covers.

His footsteps rang loudly against the cold, marble floor, as Wil walked across the seventh level, looking for any sign of the fat man.

Although the lower floors were now destroyed, the Spire stretched upwards towards the sky, it was likely there were dozens, or even hundreds more floors to explore, each undoubtedly filled with books for the Fat Man to feast upon.

It was when he was halfway across the room, heading towards the stairwell, that a strange sound reached him. It sounded like a man, crying softly, mixed with groans and a quiet coughing.

Wary, Wil summoned his mana around him, forming a thick shield to protect his weakened body from harm. Each cautious step forward brought the sounds into sharper relief.

It was when he was on the stairwell, the wrought iron covered in a woven, crimson, and blue rug, that he spotted the source of the crying.

It was the Fat Man, kneeling in front of another Ebony door, his face pressed against the wood as he cried.

If Wil’s appearance was unrecognizable compared to yesterday, the Fat Man was his equal in that regard. Gone were the large stomach and rolls of fat, he was now thinner than Wil, barely a skin clad skeleton.

His massive body was only a fraction of what he was. He looked like the small creature that Wil had first seen, the one that begged him to work together, before it turned on Wil and transformed into the large, obese infected.

Stopping behind the creature, Wil formed a white-hot flame above his hand, not taking any chances with the thing in front of him. He had been caught off guard by it once, but never again.

“Happyyyyy? You’veeeee wonnnnnn!” It cried, not bothering to turn and look at him.

“Have I…then why did it feel like you came out on top during our battle?” Wil asked, the flame becoming larger as Wil continued channeling mana into it, not stopping, even as they talked.

“You destroyed everythingggggg! Turtle has locked the rest awayyyyy….now I’m too hungry to fight itttt!” It whined, turning slowly as it collapsed against the door.

“Neededdd what was here to get strongeerrr…lowerrrr floors are surfaceeeee throughtssssss, neededddd to feed to dig deepeerrrrrrrr!” It screamed, slamming its head against the thick, wooden door.

In the light from the windows, Wil could see that it was indeed the Fat Man, starved in only a day, until it was a mere remnant of what it had been. Wil could barely feel any mana in its small body, the denial of its feast must have starved the corruption, weakening it enough, that the Dragon Turtle could seal the rest of its mind away, protecting it from the infection.

“So, you used all of your strength on little old me… didn’t leave anything to use against the Turtle?” Wil mused. His fight had drained off some of the mana from the Fat Man, and it couldn’t replace it feeding on burnt books and destroyed knowledge.

Now it was stuck, too weak to push furth into the Azure Lords mind.

“We can still work togetherrrrr…..all the knowledge….just behind the door…” It begged, its face crumpled as tears ran down its face, snot running from its nose.

Wil laughed in astonishment, not believing the shameless creature would make such an offer again. Shaking his head at its words, Wil lifted his right hand, the ball of fire glowing as bright as a midday sun.

“Fool…one day, when our god is free…” It snarled but didn’t get a chance to finish its threats as Wil tossed the ball of flame at his diminished opponent. The fire struck it in its bony chest, bursting apart and consuming the creature. In moments, the flame had burned away the corruption, leaving only a small pile of black ash.

Not one to risk anything, Wil summoned another flame, waiting until it was just as hot as the first, before tossing it on the remnants, not even leaving the ash to taint this place.

Satisfied, Wil walked to the ebony door blocking the next floor. Placing his hand on it, he sent his senses outwards, looking for any sign of the infection beyond. He could only feel a familiar presence, the mind of the Dragon Turtle, secure within.

The Azure Lord’s mind was safe.

Nodding, Wil retracted his hand, turning around and walking back down the stairs again. On each floor he sent his senses outwards, searching for even the smallest trace of infection. Several times he found stains or remnants, traces on books, or shelves, even on a bite mark in a binding. He burned them all, leaving the Spire cleansed of the taint.

Assured that he had completed his task, Wil walked outside the Spire, walking down the ash covered path, before turning to stare upwards at the building. In a flash of white light, it was gone, as if it had never been.

The ground around him changed just as quickly, one second, he was standing on burnt ground and grey ash, the next, he was surrounded by green grassland and wildflowers, blooming in every color of the rainbow.

Just in front of him, where the ebony door had been, was a single object. A large tome, its pages aged and yellowed, its bindings cracked and well-worn.

Picking it up in his good hand, he read the cover, his eyes widening in shock as he realized the rarity of the tome in his hand.