The Years of Apocalypse - A Time Loop Progression Fantasy-Chapter 168 - The Soulbound Spellbook

Mirian tried to stay calm, but for once, as the apocalypse approached, she had something to lose. The alchemists she’d hired were good, but they’d still fucked up distilling the titan catalyst twice, which had caused unacceptable delays. The third try, they’d finally gotten it using a fifteen-step process involving at least twenty magichemicals. While they worked, Mirian had restored the glaciavore-skin leather and its protection glyphs, as well as added new glyphs of her own. The titan catalyst was now properly integrated into the spine of the spellbook, and she’d transmuted the titanium alloy to mythril, but the half-assed glyph-forge here wasn’t capable of reaching high enough temperatures for the alloy they’d need for the adamantium. When she’d used spells to increase the temperature, she’d accidentally destroyed the glyph-forge.

They were nearly out of time. It was noon of the 4th, and the Divir moon would be falling soon. She cursed Troytin again for stealing those precious two days from her. At least her maneuver in Alkazaria seemed to have cut one of his networks of agents off. They trusted Adria more than him. She only found two Deeps hiding in Normarg, both of whom were easily disposed of because their soul-disguises made them stand out like signal flares to her.

Over the past few days, hunters and Praetorians had started trickling back into the village. Torres had made it back. She’d suffered pretty bad burns when the leyline had finally destabilized, but Lecne had healed her. Most of the casualties had been the first group of hunters to rout. Regrettably, she didn’t even know their names.

When she’d told Lecne that, he’d said, “Then the faithful of Zomalator will mourn them. We relieve you of that burden. Go do what you need to do.”

She didn’t really have words for how much she appreciated Lecne, and had told him as much.

“Then actions will suffice,” he’d said.

Voran had said little since his return. Only things like, “I wish there was something I could do now. Really do. Something important. I don’t like….”

He didn’t say precisely what that was, but Mirian understood.

Normarg itself was ablaze with rumors. The hunters had started talking about the battle with the titan, and they had pieces of it to prove their tale. That, and the arcane eruptions were a near-constant thing now, so everyone had started to understand something had gone terribly wrong.

From those eruptions, she could see that killing the titan hadn’t stopped anything. Either it wasn’t the cause of the destabilization, or the damage was already done this late in the cycle. It would be interesting to see how the beast reacted in the next loop. If she understood how it worked, once she bound the titan catalyst to her soul, Apophagorga wouldn’t have it anymore. Or rather, the vast majority of it would be gone. They’d had to discard a few ruined pieces already. She wondered if missing that much catalyst would kill it outright.

As for the Holy Pages, Mirian was quite sure that binding them to the catalyst itself and completely enclosing them would keep them with the rest of the spellbook. She still had no idea how Elder time magic worked, but her study of the Luminate’s holy texts and experiments with relicarium and bindings had at least taught her how the rules worked for the Prophet’s artifact.

Mirian was preparing the mold for the relicarium when she felt a presence behind her. At first she thought it was Voran, but then she realized the aura was too strong.

“I believe you have something of mine,” came a tired, slightly annoyed voice. Archmage Luspire.

Mirian looked up from her work. Sure enough, it was the Archmage. Voran was just behind him, looking twitchy. A quick calculation told her there was no way she could protect the entire workshop from the Archmage. She needed a peaceful resolution here. “I do,” she said, and cut the spellbook from her belt. “You can have it back.”

Luspire took the book from her. His face didn’t seem to know whether it was supposed to look surprised or sneer.

Mirian went back to the mold. “Did Troytin tell you where to find me? He was probably going by ‘Sulvorath.’ Bratty Akanan with masculinity issues? Likes to boss around Tyrcast? He detonated the Divine Monument while you were gone.”

Luspire opened his mouth. If she knew him—and she knew him pretty well—he had prepared a very indignant speech full of subtle insults, but she hadn’t reacted the way he’d expected, so now he didn’t know what to say.

She turned to look at him again. His skin was discolored in several places, the scars making lighting patterns around his face. A Luminate priest had obviously seen to him, but he hadn’t been able to completely heal him. “You took the train from Cairnmouth to Alkazaria on the 23rd,” she said. The same one Nicolus and I took so long ago. “What was it like, seeing a leyline breach? Seeing the very Labyrinth protrude from the earth?”

Luspire turned to Voran. “You were right,” he said, and flipped the Praetorian a gold doubloon.

Mirian measured the mold’s depth. Perfect, she decided, and stopped channeling her shape stone spell. She gave the Archmage her full attention. “I apologize for the theft, but it was the only way. As you can see, we’re down the final few hours. But when I tell the story of this, when this is all over, I’ll credit you. It’s your mentorship that got me this far. It was your spellbook I needed to finally put down the cataclysm beast.” He loved the flattery, she knew. And right now, she needed his help.

Voran looked at Luspire, and Luspire raised an eyebrow. Voran sighed, and flipped Luspire the gold coin back. Apparently, the two knew each other better than she’d thought if they were making ridiculous bets with each other about what she’d say. “It was Sulvorath,” Luspire finally said. “He didn’t tell me the leyline would explode. I should have gone back. But then I got too curious.”

“He probably didn’t know,” Mirian said. “Once he gets to Torrviol, he stays. What’s he been up to?”

“Meddling in everything,” Luspire said with a slight sneer in his lip.

“The Monument?”

“Of course. Though I doubt they learned anything. As soon as I left, they lost their last expert. Tyrcast may know how to pay people to make engines, but he’s no researcher. Neither is his fool apprentice.” Luspire chortled, a rather unnerving sound coming from him. “He said you were an undercover Persaman mage sent to sabotage the Monument.”

And at first, you believed him, Mirian thought. But then he would have changed his mind. Lies, no matter how oft repeated, were difficult to believe when reality contradicted them in so many ways. There was the other issue. Tyrcast’s apprentice. Troytin finally figured out how bad he’s been outclassed in arcane power. He’s too late, though.

“I need your help,” Mirian said. “And then the world will know you helped a Prophet forge the adamantium of her spellbook.”

“Adamantium?” Luspire said, raising an eyebrow. He looked at Voran.

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“The Prophets are above the law,” Voran said.

“I need someone who can keep this metal at a very high, very precise temperature, then raise and lower it by exact increments while I work the soul energy,” Mirian said. She gestured at the glyph-forge. “Even with Torres’s help, that thing can’t do it.”

“Child’s play,” Luspire said with a sinister looking smile. His smiles were always sinister. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t know how he came off, and Mirian didn’t think anyone was stupid enough to tell him anymore.

She nodded. “Then let’s get to work.”

***

As the sky darkened, Mirian gently set her spellbook into the relicarium. It was finally done. An intricate spiderweb of mythril wire protected the black glaciavore-leather cover. Around the edge of the cover were dozens of miniscule glyphs and runes, most of which Mirian had added, protecting the spellbook and its contents from every manner of harm she could think of. On the outer edge of the book in two connected ornate rectangles was the adamantium. With Luspire’s help, she’d finally gotten the thin material to not shatter as she imbued it with Apophagorga’s soul. She’d strained mightily, but had done it.

On the inside of the cover were two miniaturized soul repositories with their own mythril conduits. Inside, the Holy Pages were integrated with the titan catalyst. They gleamed enticingly. Finally, she’d prepared the surface as she had with the amulet, and not a moment too soon.

Gently, she laid it down into its relicarium pool. The material shimmered and glowed.

Mirian drew the last soul energy from her repository. This time, a crowd watched. Some knelt, some stood, but there was a collective tension in the room; a held breath.

She went through the bindings one by one. As she did, her chest swelled with pride. With this, she would be able to explore new arcane physics. To her knowledge, no one in history—Prophet or not—had made a spellbook with this kind of capacity. At long last, she would have a tool fit for stopping the apocalypse.

Mirian strained as she set the ninth binding in. Above, the Divir moon brightened, and began to descend. Mirian closed her eyes, feeling her spellbook—her spellbook—as it began to integrate into her soul. Prismatic lines, more brilliant even than those of Eclipse, began to circle her soul.

She opened her eyes. The world trembled. “I’ll see you all again,” she promised. “The Ominian watches over you. As do I.”

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A flash of green light. The world ended.

***

Mirian awoke, and closed her eyes. She could see the spellbook circling her soul. She touched the catalyst and summoned it to her. Sure enough, the Holy Pages were within it. The first page still had a neatly scrawled ‘M’ and her test glyph. She smiled, and felt, for the first time in a long time, a sense of ease and peace. Even the drip of water from the ceiling couldn’t dampen her mood.

She changed into her uniform. Lily woke, and groggily reached for her glasses. “Huh. You certainly look chipper,” she said.

“It’s another beautiful day,” Mirian said, and gave her a hug. “I’ll see you around. I’m going to go get breakfast.” And resolve the soul instability from all those mana elixirs, she mentally noted.

***

By evening, Mirian had used Rostal’s soul exercises to soothe the worst of the soul instability and was Endresen’s new apprentice. She began work on her spellbook the next day. While she was now capable of scribing incredibly quickly, for these spell, she took her time, using only the advanced equipment of Endresen’s labs to distill magic inks and scribe glyphs. The glyphs would be as perfectly formed as was possible with modern technology. Her magichemicals for the inks were measured precisely and blended by her own hand using the advanced alchemistry labs of Torrian Tower. When she scribed, she used the catalyst from her new spellbook. Together, those things would increase every spell’s efficiency and potential power.

She kept an eye out for an early arrival by Troytin in case he decided to change up his routine to try and ambush her, but other than that, she dedicated almost all her time to preparing spells. Mirian scribed her favorite spells from Luspire’s book—she had them memorized at this point—as well as the ones she constantly needed, like lift object and levitation. She added an array of spell enhancing glyphs, as well as the tri-bonded detect myrvite spell and celestial spells like detect life. She added her most advanced version of total camouflage, classics like greater lightning and magnetic explosion, and several less used ones like total hold person. She also added her newly discovered siphon spells, trying them out on some of the bog lions north of town on the night of the 5th. Then, she headed back to town and killed Specter in her sleep again.

Already, she could feel the difference the new catalyst was making. Spells she cast took less mana, and had more power. She could even use it to channel soul energy like it was a focus, which simplified the casting and creation of tri-bonded sequences.

Then, on the morning of the 6th, she surreptitiously levitated to the top of Torrian Tower and layered several lensing spells. She watched the route the airship took carefully, marking down the coordinates on a map, then transcribed the coordinates and reference points on the map in her spellbook. Gods, it was blessed relief to be able to write down something she wanted to remember across cycles.

When she watched the Akanan airship land in the courtyard, she noticed Troytin looking around suspiciously. From her vantage at the top of the tower, she could see he’d added a few more agents to the crew. Agents with soul disguises, she saw.

It still wasn’t clear to her exactly how much he’d learned about her plans or capabilities from his cuckoo’s nest in Torrviol, but it was clear that Troytin was coming far too close to critical information. It was a miracle he hadn’t learned any soul magic yet. She would have to make sure it stayed that way.

That night, she used detect life to monitor him in his quarters from the streets, then waited for him to go to sleep. She examined his ward scheme. He’d figured out she was using manipulate glass to bypass the usual shatter wards, and had added different detection schemes. His door was warded to the hells and back. Next door to him was Archmage Tyrcast.

However, the building was solid granite. Normally, that’d be great for security, but while manipulate stone didn’t work on mixed materials like mortar and brick, it did work on that. It took her an hour to carefully tunnel through the stone, using silent zone to suppress the vibrations of her work and air barrier to prevent the cold air from outside from reaching his room. Twice, she had to stop and use an illusion spell to cover up the wall while the guards did their nightly rounds, but she knew their routes.

Once the hole was big enough, she silently floated into his room and cut off his head with Eclipse.

The levitation spell finally triggered an alarm ward, but she was long gone by the time anyone started looking for her.

The next morning, she went back to carefully scribing her spells in Torrian Tower.

There was a great deal of chaos in Torrviol after Troytin’s death, but none of it mattered to Mirian. Luspire and Tyrcast had their little spats, and the Akana agents rampaged around town being annoying, but none of it mattered. Without the other time traveler directing them, none of them cared about a quiet sixth year student working as an apprentice in the tower. For whatever reason, Troytin didn’t like telling people about the time loop. That probably protected Operation Zenith from being questioned, but it also made his minions useless without him.

When the Akanan invasion came, Mirian left town. There was no sense fighting that battle. It would take far more than two days of preparation to win, and the battle would just happen again no matter what she did.

Instead, the next cycle, just before the 6th of Solem, she made her way out to a tall hillside twenty miles west of Torrviol, set up an anti-myrvite ward, and set up camp.

At long last, it was time to put an end to the ‘Troytin’ problem. Permanently.